


Mercury Saga, Part II: Out of the Shadows

by CaiyaAmatista



Series: Mercury Saga [2]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Family Drama, Family Issues, Family Member Death, Family Secrets, Gen, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:06:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 87,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaiyaAmatista/pseuds/CaiyaAmatista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Distorted." Eighteen-year-old Kim Proctor, the great-niece of fallen Howling Commando James Buchanan Barnes, has known many tragedies in her short life. With her grandmother's health steadily on the decline, it looks as though another will be added to the list. What she doesn't realize, however, is that she's not as alone in this world as she thinks...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not a Raccoon

_~Frederick County, Maryland, three months later~_

Running never used to be a great love of hers, not even when she had two legs. In fact, she used to view it some form of torture when they forced her to run in freshman gym class, a time that seemed so long ago when she dwelled on it. She would become easily winded, needed frequent walking breaks, and always ached horribly the next day.

Lately, however, it had become an escape. With consistent practice and patience with her abilities, the activity was getting easier and easier to do. It was a time to focus on her. A chance to clear her mind of the stresses plaguing her mind. The latest tiff with Aunt Laura had prompted a need for this particular session.

Breathe in. One, two. Breathe out. One, two. That was her mantra as she jogged down the streets of her neighborhood. She felt lucky living in an area whose economy was based primarily on agriculture. Being only a forty-minute drive from the busy streets of Washington, D.C. was all well and good, but it hardly compared to the areas beyond city limits. Frederick County was richer in natural scenery and had many farms, which made for some beautiful jogs. These jogs had been more fulfilling in recent weeks, thanks to the latest prosthetic prototype she wore. The model had been contoured to the proportions of her body to make it appear more like an actual limb as opposed to a titanium replacement. Additionally, a stimulator had been implanted at the base of her spine, which sent signals from her brain to the prosthetic in order to make it move. The procedure had worked flawlessly; it truly moved like a real appendage, bending at the knee and behaving as any leg would while running. Compared to her J-shaped model, it felt as though she'd never even lost her right leg in the first place. Mr. Stark would be pleased to hear it.

Breathe in, breathe out. Rhythmic pounding of feet on pavement; music playing into her ears from her headphones; sweat evaporating from her brow to help cool her face. All the components kept her in a soothing trance.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Let it all fade from her mind.

Rounding the last corner of her route, Kim Proctor finally slowed to a walk, giving herself a chance to cool down from the five-mile trek. Her rapid heartbeat prompted her to continue taking in deep breaths, and as she brought her body to rest, her pulse gradually reduced to a normal rate. It had been her longest run yet, and she experienced very little soreness and a pleasant burn in her lungs. She was satisfied with her progress. She'd made good time, too: judging by the pink and orange hues in the sky, sunset was only about an hour away.

Half a mile further down the block, she stopped at the mailbox, then cut across the lawn of a modest two-story house, her home with Grandma Proctor for close to five years. Home. Sanctuary. This was where Kim received her second chance at a life worth living.

Once inside, Kim leafed through the mail as she slowly walked through the hallway. On her way, she passed several photographs hanging on the walls, some of them her kin from bygone eras. Over the years, she'd memorized their faces. Her great-grandparents, George and Winnie Barnes; her great-uncle, James Barnes, known affectionately to family and friends as Bucky; her grandfather, John Proctor; Grandma and Grandpa's first son, Johnny, who died young due to complications from tuberculosis; Aunt Laura; her mother, Grace, and father, Jim, whom Grandma had named in honor of the soldier, Bucky; the last photo ever taken of her little brother, Scotty. They watched over her as she continued down the hall, glancing through the notifications in her hands. Another medical bill for Grandma. A reminder from Red Cross that Kim was scheduled to donate blood at the end of the next week. Two pieces of junk mail. She smiled when she found an invitation to Sammy's birthday party scrawled with his childish penmanship. Sammy, the boy she currently volunteered her time with, was a survivor of last year's Boston Marathon bombing and a double-amputee. When he'd joined _Iron Wings_ , Kim immediately requested that she be assigned as his mentor because of his Captain America t-shirt. How could she resist? He would often send her letters, since he liked keeping in touch with his "big sister" even beyond their sessions at the physical therapy center. By the card she found on the inside, it was clear that Sammy was planning an Avengers-themed party. Cute. All the mail was placed on the antique buffet at the end of the hall; she would take a closer look at the rest later.

After stretching her muscles, washing her face, donning a clean shirt and eating a quick sandwich, she made her way upstairs to her grandmother's room. Jen, their Hospice nurse, was giving the heart monitor and IV bag a final check for the evening. Her grandmother lay in bed, eyes half-open but very aware of her surroundings. At eighty-seven-years-old, Rebecca Proctor had lived a long, full life, which was gradually coming to a close due to a decade-long battle with breast cancer. Five months ago, she'd stopped responding to treatment, and she wanted nothing more than to come home to live out the remainder of her life. Kim tilted her head as she observed her. Beneath the withered skin and braided silver hair, she still resembled the same woman she'd had known and loved since she was a baby.

Discreetly pulling her iPhone from her pocket, she typed a quick message to a recipient labeled only as **Private Number** : _Grandma had stroke. Please call if you can_."

Once the device was back in her pocket, she crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. "She stay pretty calm while I was out?"

Rebecca seemed to hear her voice, turning her head to see her granddaughter in the doorway. It might have been a trick of the light, but her face appeared to brighten when she saw her.

Jen turned and smiled. "She did. You have a good run?"

"Yeah."

"How's the new leg working out?"

"I'm almost tempted to never take it off," she stuck her prosthetic out to inspect it. The appendage started above where her knee used to be, and extended all the way to the rounded end of her artificial foot. "Even when I walk, I don't feel like I'm limping anymore. It fits me really, really well."

"That's fantastic! Mr. Stark is really going to change some lives with those models."

"He already is," she mused. "I might see if I can play soccer with Ginny if things keep working out the way they do."

"Which one is Ginny again? You've mentioned her name once before."

"Twelve-year-old, lost her arm during a rock slide while camping with her family. _Loves_ to play soccer."

"Right, now I remember. I'd love to see you guys play someday. From what you've said, she can be pretty ruthless during the game."

She laughed. "Yeah, she's a little bulldog out there."

Jen gave a chuckle, then glanced back at her patient. "Everything's pretty stable as far as her vitals, and the morphine drip is in place, so she should sleep well. Are you in for the night?"

Kim nodded. "If you're all set, you can head out."

"I have a few cleaning supplies to put away downstairs, but then I'll be off after that."

"Thanks, Jen. See you tomorrow."

"Have a good night," she placed a comforting hand on Kim's shoulder as she passed. She appreciated the gesture.

Once alone, Kim came in and pulled a chair up beside Rebecca's bed. Though sadness was in her heart, she offered the elderly woman a gentle smile as she placed a hand atop hers. A recent stroke had paralyzed the woman's facial muscles, rendering her incapable of speech. Despite this, it seemed as though her hooded green eyes were smiling, even if her mouth couldn't. This was another reason why Kim needed the escape that jogging offered her: very slowly, her bedridden grandmother was wasting away before her eyes. The person who had taken her in and, essentially, saved her life…she was fading. The representatives at Hospice couldn't say for sure how much longer she had. Days? Weeks, perhaps? Difficult to say. Yet another person she loved being cruelly taken from her, and this time, she had to endure the suffering of gradual loss.

Kim's heart broke every time she saw her grandmother like this, but she needed to be strong for her. She _would_ be strong. If they only had so little time left together, then sitting around crying was no way to spend it. At the very least, she could try to make Rebecca's remaining days as happy as possible. "I know you overheard us, but my run was good tonight. I made it all the way to Silver Spring Road this time. I know, not super far or anything to brag about, but I didn't want to go too far from home. I think you'd get a kick out of seeing me run now." A pause. "Maybe I'll have Jen take a video on her phone so you can see."

The bottom lids of her eyes twitched, indicative of an emotional response.

That made her smile a little more. "Yeah, I thought you might like that. Almost makes me feel normal again. I think I'm getting stronger in my legs, too. It's a good feeling." It was such simple and light conversation, but that's how she wanted to keep it. She preferred not to burden her grandmother's ears with the strained conversation between her and Aunt Laura earlier today.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she gave her head a shake and said, "Alright, it's eight thirty, so no more boring talk about exercise. You're probably sick of hearing about it every day," she said as she stood. "You ready? I've been practicing a little more with this prototype," she patted her right thigh. "Feels different from the other one, you know? I mean that in a good way."

Crossing the room to the shelves containing her grandmother's vinyl record collection, she began flipping through the albums. "No; nope; no; I know which one I want tonight…Ah, found it!" She triumphantly pulled out the large square case she had been seeking. On the dresser was an old record player, where Kim placed the large black disk and set the needle on its surface. It took only seconds for Ritchie Valens' _"Oh Donna"_ to fill the room. She smiled; the song was a favorite of both her and her grandmother.

"Okay," she stood up straight, "foxtrot tonight." She proceeded to hold her arms up, miming as though she had a partner—one hand on his shoulder, the other holding his hand—and began the steps to the dance. It was a nightly ritual they'd started after she moved here, as well as a form of physical therapy for Kim: dances like the waltz, foxtrot, and jitterbug helped her with coordination and fine-tuned her motor skills. Even though Rebecca could no longer be her partner, it didn't stop Kim from continuing to practice. She loved doing it, and the steps really strengthened her abilities. In addition to this, she knew her grandmother loved watching her do something they had once shared.

In her head, she counted the steps. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Turn, two, three, four…The serene accompaniment of music filtering from the record player combined with Valens' lovely voice gave her the perfect tempo, and she felt herself relax into it. She still counted, but her movements became more fluid as she let go.

Successfully taking a turning step, she smiled over at Rebecca. "See? Look how smoothly I'm moving," she gave another turn into the next step. "If I'd ever gone to prom, I would have forced the guy to dance with me like this." She slid a step back, moved to the left. "Grandpa used to say he loved dancing with you when you were younger, and that's what I want to find: someone who's willing to dance with me whenever I want to," she spun herself around with a giggle.

There'll be time later, she thought, to think about the negative things going on. You need me right now, Grandma, and I know that even _you_ need an escape every once in a while. I hated being confined to a wheelchair probably as much as you hate being confined to your bed. You need an escape, and I will make sure you get it.

Valens continued to croon about the love of his life.

One, two, three, four…

Rebecca's eyes continued to twinkle as she silently watched her granddaughter make her so proud.

* * *

It was close to nine o'clock when she finally kissed her grandmother good night and exited the room. The door was left open in case a monitor sounded an alert in the middle of the night. Kim made her way to the stairs, going over a mental checklist of what chores still needed to be done. It was good to have those kinds of distractions. I've got a load of laundry to do; dishwasher needs to be emptied; have we still got cookies? I really want some cookies. Oh, and I better get my blog updated tonight before Mr. Stark gets on my case for—

Halfway down the stairs, a vibration in her pocket indicated an incoming call. When she saw the caller displayed as **Private Number** on the screen, she sighed in relief and brought the phone to her ear. "Hey. I just really needed to talk tonight."

"That was pretty clear from the message you sent me," Steve Rogers replied, concern evident in his voice. The man had become a dear friend to her over the past three years. Being the best friend of her Uncle Bucky, he'd taken it upon himself to track down the remaining members of the Barnes family. It was a way for him to connect with the life he once had. "When did it happen, Kim?"

"Four days ago," she descended the remaining stairs, making sure she was out of earshot of her grandmother. "I should have called you as soon as possible, but—"

"I'm sure you were otherwise occupied getting Rebecca the care she needed," he interrupted, "so you don't need to apologize or make any excuses. Family always comes first."

"I know, but…you knew her back in the nineteen-forties, and she's one of the last living people you know from that era. I feel like you should what's going on with her as soon as it happens."

"Kim, I know you, and I can only imagine how traumatizing a situation like this must be. You needed to take time for yourself before contacting me, and trust me: you did the right thing for you. That is not selfish."

He was using that protective tone with her, which, despite her worries, made her smile softly in appreciation. "Thanks, Steve."

"How is she?"

"Facial muscles and the left side of her body are paralyzed; she'll never be able to leave her bed again."

"Oh, God…"

"Yeah." Crossing through the kitchen, she slipped out the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. The dark sky and mild air of the July night greeted her, accompanied by the incessant chirping of nocturnal insects. She'd always liked their backyard. A large, grassy expanse bordered by a thick patch of trees at the property's far edge, offering a degree of privacy from their neighbors. It also used to be a place for her and Scotty to run around and explore as children. "All we can do is make her as comfortable as possible now."

"How are you holding up, Kim?"

She heard herself sigh into the receiver. It was a question he asked her numerous times, but she understood why he did it. Much like when he first met her, Steve wanted her to get the hurt out of her system, which was precisely what she did. The last time she'd made the mistake of bottling up her emotions, she'd given herself a pair of matching scars on her wrists. Steve wouldn't let her go down that path again. Ever. He really _was_ looking out for her.

"Kim."

"I'm okay, and I do mean it," she finally said. "Some days are harder than others, but I'm hanging in there, Steve."

"I'm glad to hear it. Is it just Hospice assisting with her care? Has your Aunt Laura been around at all?"

She pursed her lips when an unpleasant burn flared in the pit of her stomach, then she slowly began pacing around the yard in a large circle. Maybe it would help to alleviate the internal pain. "She comes every weekend to help out, and she's amazing with how she takes care of Grandma, but…" She shook her head. "Steve, it seems like we're fighting more and more lately."

"Why are you guys fighting?"

She sighed, not pleased with the idea of telling him the reason. "She keeps bringing up my suicide attempt."

"Still? You've got to be kidding me," he sounded exasperated.

"No."

"Why does she feel the need to keep dragging this up? That incident was over four years ago! That's unfair for her to be constantly reminding you of it, especially when you've moved on with your life. It's time for her to move on with hers."

She half-shrugged, nearing the trees as she continued her great circle. "She's angry. Something kind of snapped in her ever since Dad died. You didn't know him, and you never saw them together, but those two were really close." She let a breath pass through her nostrils. "Sometimes, I think she sort of resents me for being the only one to survive that crash."

"Kim—!"

But she wasn't done. "I know I hurt her back then, and no matter how many times I've apologized, she never really got over what I tried to do in her own house. She took that really hard. Plus, now her mother's health is failing, so it's making things even worse between us."

"Kim," he said firmly, "you're making excuses for potentially abusive behavior."

It was almost like a slap in the face because she hadn't thought about it that way. She bit her lip, realizing the truth in his statement. "It's hard because I do still feel guilty about what I did, and she's my aunt: I do love her. I have so little family left, and when Grandma's gone, it'll just be her and me. I know that somewhere down the road, we're probably going to need each other. I can't just turn my back on her."

"Hey, you listen to me, and you listen well: as human beings, we're bound to make mistakes. You were not at fault for the car crash. And while you may have consciously made the decision to try taking your own life, you soon realized the potential repercussions your actions would have had on everyone around you. You made a mistake, but you were just a _kid_. There's so much you've learned since then, and even Rebecca commented to me what a great change there'd been in you."

Her breaths became shallower, and she tried to ward off the tears that stung behind her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Family is supposed to be there for one another, and it sounds like Laura has some personal issues to sort out for herself, and that does not and should not fall on your shoulders. You don't control anyone's behavior but your own, and I, for one, am damn proud of how you've turned out, Kim."

Whether she liked it or not, a few quiet tears flowed down her cheeks, which she quickly wiped away. "You mean that?"

"Every single word. I know you don't have much family left, but I want you to know that I think of you as the little sister I never had."

A pain pierced her heart, but this time, it was sweet pain. "You do?"

"Of course. You're my best friend's youngest niece, and that makes you like family to me. As such, I feel a personal responsibility to look out for your well-being, and remember: you can always talk to me about anything, especially when it's something affecting your heart."

By now, she was holding her forehead in her free hand, completely overwhelmed by his proclamation. Wiping a few more errant tears, she could feel the smile lighting her entire face. "I swear, Steve, if you make me cry, I'm going to kick your super-soldier butt the next time I see you."

He laughed. "And just think: you're stuck with big brother Steve for the rest of your life."

Unable to help it, she released a snicker.

"What was that? Was that a laugh I finally heard?"

"Shut up," she grinned, earning another laugh from him.

"It's good to hear humor in your voice, Kim; makes me happy to hear you laugh. Don't ever lose that."

"I'll work on it," she resumed pacing.

"I just wish I could be there for you. I should have called you before her health really started to decline. You're only eighteen; you shouldn't feel like you have to go through this alone."

She smiled again, a little sadder this time. "I appreciate that, but there's nothing you could have done to—" A twig snapped somewhere in the trees beside her, causing her to jerk her head around at the noise. Scanning the vegetation, she detected nothing out of the ordinary.

"Kim?"

"Sorry, just heard a raccoon or something. Anyway, don't beat yourself up over that. Between your work with SHIELD and finding out that HYDRA is still around, I'd say you have your hands quite full. Even I know that needs to come first for you, Steve."

"Very true, but it doesn't change the fact that I wish I could be there when you need me."

"Your calls do more for my heart than you realize." A pause. "You still can't you tell me where you are, can you?"

"I'd like to, but it's best if I don't disclose that information. The less you know, the safer you are from any potential threats. I don't want anyone using you to get to me."

HYDRA, her mind whispered. While initially disappointed, she completely understood his rationale. She was just glad Mr. Stark had installed the auditory cloaking chips in their phones to provide a secure line of communication between them. At least they could keep unwanted ears from listening for the time being. "Can you at least tell me what this mission of yours is? What you're doing…wherever it is you are? All you said was that you're looking for someone."

He seemed to hesitate on his end. "I can't go into great detail, but there's something that HYDRA has done that I need get to the bottom of. Something that came up during those days in D.C., and I need answers."

She recognized the underlying hurt in his voice. "What did they do, Steve? What is it you're trying to find out?"

Quiet. Then, "All I can tell you is that they destroyed the mind of someone I care about. I need to find him, and will stop at nothing until I do."

She dug her fingernails into her palm. What flashed through her mind was the memory of Steve's stricken face whenever he spoke about the day Uncle Bucky died. She knew that HYDRA was responsible for his death, and they had to get what they deserved. If it hadn't been for them, perhaps he would have still been alive when she was born, and perhaps she could have known him for herself. For all the lives they'd ruined, the chaos they created, and for the atrocities they continued to commit, she wanted to see the organization annihilated. "I hope you find him."

He released his breath in a gentle huff. "So do I. We'll see what the outcome is." He paused. "While I have you on the line, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. You know how SHIELD and HYDRA's files were leaked on the Internet?"

"Yeah; from the sounds of it, it was one a hell of a leak."

"Have you had a chance to browse through any of those files for yourself? SHIELD or HYDRA's?"

Her brow furrowed briefly at the question, but he must have had a reason for asking. "No. With everything I've had going on at home, I really haven't had time to just sit and surf the web. The big exceptions have been filling out online forms for my apprenticeship, and Skyping with Mr. Stark. Beyond that, really haven't looked for much else."

He seemed to consider this. "I think that's for the best. Along those lines, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary in your area?"

"No."

"Any suspicious people or activity, or anything that you think warrants a closer look?"

He'd been asking those same questions ever since the Helicarrier incident in April. "Not that I've seen, no."

"Okay. Promise me you'll keep being vigilant of the things going on around you. If anything happens that makes you suspect something is more than what it seems, you contact me right away."

"I can do that." She quickly checked the time on her phone. "Alright, it's getting late here, and I should get myself ready for bed. But Steve? Thanks; thank you for calling me."

"My pleasure, Kim. Thank you for sharing everything that you did with me. It puts me more at ease when you're not holding it all in."

"I know. But you promise me you'll be careful, no matter where this mission of yours takes you. Okay?"

"I do promise. Oh, and I meant to ask: are you still practicing your dances?"

"Every night."

"Good. I still don't know how to dance, so when things settle down, maybe you can teach me."

Beaming, she said, "Absolutely."

"Great. Until I see you again, please watch over your grandmother. She needs you."

"Hey, she's my lady; you know I will."

"I know you will," he echoed.

"Oh, and Steve?"

"Yeah?"

She smirked when she said, "You're still a punk."

He chuckled softly. "And you'll always be a brat. Take care."

"You, too. Bye, Steve."

Ending the call, she took a deep breath and released it slowly, her shoulders relaxing at last. She felt much better after their conversation, and thought about how lucky she was to have him as a friend. Maybe next time Aunt Laura came out, they could try having another chat.

She glanced up at the moon, which shone pale light onto the world below. Judging by its size, it was the beginning of the waning phase. Grandma taught me all the moon phases, she thought absently; I think I knew them before I could even form complete sentences. She smiled at the thought. Releasing a sigh, she began walking back to the house, still entranced by the lunar orb. Someday, I'll look up there and think of Grandma, imagine that she's watching over me every night. Both she and Uncle Bucky high above me, sister and brother together again—

A hand clamped firmly over her mouth. At first, she could only gasp in fear; then, overcoming the initial shock, began struggling while trying to yell past the attacker's palm.

Oh, God! Oh my _God!_

She dropped her iPhone when something cold— _cold_ —wrapped around her, instantly pinning her arms to her sides. An arm? Her eyes went wide at the frigid sensation, and she struggled even harder. Futile, maybe, but she tried everything she could to worm out of his grasp.

No! Let me go!

From behind, this person felt much larger than she, and there was no doubt in her mind that it was a man. Words like kidnap, rape, and murder entered her mind, but they were followed by something just as horrific: _HYDRA_. She thought about Steve's ongoing battle with them, and wondered if they'd found her.

Oh, God, _no!_

She continued to fight against him, but the arms around her were incredibly strong. Unyielding. However, everything inside her told her not to give up. Then the cold arm tightened around her, _squeezing_ like a snake _,_ and she released a small whimper of pain.

For some reason, that caused him to relent, but only slightly. Nevertheless, she took it as a chance to writhe frantically again, but he maintained his hold. Without really thinking, she stomped her right foot on the ground as hard as she could. To her surprise, there was a certain degree of kick-back with that action, and it seemed to make her assailant stumble back a step. She seized the opportunity and did it again, stomping even harder, trying everything she could to get away. But the hand on her mouth became firmer, pressing her head back against his chest.

Steve…Steve… Her eyes snapped shut as despair flooded her heart.

Steve, help me! _Please!_

"At ease, soldier."

It took a moment, but as the words registered, she opened her eyes and gradually ceased struggling. Her heart still pounded furiously, and short, shaky breaths passed through her flaring nostrils.

That phrase…

Soon enough, she became completely still in the sturdy arms, save for the incessant trembling of her body. She made a soft questioning noise in her throat.

"At ease," he repeated in a hoarse whisper. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Despite her obvious fear, the low voice beside her ear wasn't completely sinister. Her panting breaths blew gently onto the hand covering her mouth, though they were slowing.

"I'm going to let you go; I only ask that you don't scream."

Her mind was racing, but something inside her told her he would keep his word. Could she trust that? Did she have any choice? As best as she could, she gave a stiff nod.

Sure enough, she was released.

"Ahhhh…." Hands rubbed at her shaking arms, where the intense pressure had been applied. Then, turning slowly, she got her first glimpse of her attacker. He stood in the dimness of the trees' shadows, but she could tell he was several inches taller than her, and his dark clothes couldn't disguise the powerful physique he obviously possessed. Actually, she wasn't sure if 'clothing' was the right term; the leather and various straps adorning it looked akin to some kind of uniform. His long, disheveled hair fell into his face, which he kept averted. In fact, he'd angled his body so that she was only seeing his right side. She didn't scream; just stared, thinking about what he had initially said to her.

In a careful, hushed voice, she asked, "Why did you say that?"

He didn't answer. He simply stood, unmoving.

"You said, 'At ease, soldier.' Why?"

Still, he remained silent, but his stance was not immediately threatening.

Her eyes never left him. "Are you HYDRA?"

His hands clenched into fists. "No," he hissed.

A flicker of relief passed through her, though she remained wary. "Who are you?"

His chest rose and fell a few times before he finally turned to her. "I was hoping you could tell me."

Her brow furrowed, mostly at his response, but also as she examined his face. In the shadows, it was hard to tell what color his eyes were, but they were steely and intense as they bore into her. What really stood out, though, was how much pain she detected within them, which affected her more than she wanted to admit. His chin was covered with several days' worth of stubble. That unruly hair was either black or a deep shade of brown; she couldn't be sure. Then she was struck with a sense of déjà vu. She… _had seen this man before_. A while ago. "I remember you," she said quietly. "You were at the Smithsonian."

He pressed his lips into a flat line. "How do you remember?"

She pondered that a moment, truly unsure of why she remembered this random stranger. "I don't know; I just do." Her confusion only grew. "You were hiding in the trees. What are you doing here?"

"Kimberly Jean Proctor," she stiffened when he said her name, "born March 24th, 1996 in Rochester, New York; daughter of James Proctor and Grace Owens; descendant of one of the Howling Commandos of World War II; transfemoral amputee since the age of fourteen; served as an inspiration for the establishment of Tony Stark's _Iron Wings_ division of _Big Brothers Big Sisters of America_ ; favorite book is _Catch-22_ , favorite movies are those in the original _Star Wars_ trilogy; loves to spend as much time outdoors as possible."

The fact that he'd rattled off these details wasn't the part that fazed her. There were plenty of people out there who could do the same thing. "I see you read the blurb about me on the _Iron Wings_ website," she hoped she was able to hide the bare tremor in her words. "So what? What do you want from me?"

Again, he went silent, but then reached within the folds of his intricate leather shirt. Kim took a timid step back, thinking he was going to pull a gun on her, but instead, he pulled out something small and white. He didn't exactly present it to her, but held it in a way so that she could identify what it was: a worn envelope. She wasn't sure what was going on, but the longer she stared at it, the more she realized the handwriting on it…was _hers_.

Her lower lip quivered. _Sgt. James Barnes_.

"My…" He'd taken it from the memorial at the museum. Momentarily forgetting her fear, her eyes flashed angrily at him. "You bastard, you stole my letter!"

"No," he said quite clearly, grasp tightening on the envelope. "You wrote it to me."

She blinked. "What?"

He kept his eyes locked with hers. "You wrote it to _me._ "

Very, very slowly, her eyes went wide as her stomach dropped. What…did he…?

The man took a couple steps forward, and while her first instinct was to run, her feet seemed rooted in place. He came only close enough for her to really see him.

And that's when everything in her mind came to a screeching halt. His face…She'd seen the curves of those cheeks before, the shape of his mouth, those eyes with the penetrating gaze. She'd seen them…

In photographs. In her household.

Her jaw slowly dropped. His face…he…looks like… _No_ , she thought. No…it can't be, it's…it's not…But as much as she tried to deny it, it dawned on her as to who this man was standing before her. A hand flew to her mouth as she gasped harshly, tears pooling in her eyes. Oh...my _God_ …

He didn't move; he was waiting for her.

For the longest time, she could only stand there and stare at him, unable to form words, let alone fathom who she was seeing. Much like before, tears spilled down her cheeks in hot lines.

Dear God…it _is_ …

When she lowered her shaking hand, it took several tries before she was able to breathlessly whisper the one word trying to escape her throat. " _Bucky?"_

Something passed through his eyes, temporarily interrupting the hardness of his gaze, and his grip relaxed on the envelope he held. "At ease, soldier," he said quietly.

She gaped at him, head shaking mutely in disbelief as more tears fell. Bucky? _Bucky Barnes? Uncle Bucky?_ His army portrait hung in the hallway of her house, one of those she'd memorized…the handsome young man who had served his country so valiantly…that same face was right in front of her! Not the same face, not the same face, she tried to convince herself. But it was. This man is my great-uncle from 1944? Too many questions emerged, and she didn't know if there were enough logical explanations to answer them. "H…h…how?" She squeaked.

"Think of Steve Rogers," he said, now breaking his gaze, "and it may be less difficult to accept."

Steve. Her mind raced. Steve had crash-landed the HYDRA plane somewhere in the Arctic in 1945, where he was originally thought dead, but ended up frozen for the next seventy years…She swallowed hard. He couldn't have been in a situation identical to Steve's. Could he? "Then you…" she choked out, but then shook her head. "No. _No!_ My uncle is _dead!_ He died!"

"Sergeant Barnes may have died," he returned his eyes to hers, "but the Winter Soldier lives."

Oh. God. Despite all the fear and confusion filling her, it pierced her heart to hear him say that. What did that even _mean?_ Why did he call himself the Winter Soldier? Scanning him over, she gasped again, feeling an ill sensation seize her insides when moonlight glinted off his left arm: it was completely metallic from his shoulder to his fingertips. Almost a technologically advanced version of her prosthetic leg. "Holy…" she retreated a step. "What… _happened_ to you?"

He clenched his jaw. "I don't know."

Her hands gripped at her scalp, still trying to make sense of all this. "Bucky…Bucky…Oh, my God, I can't believe this," her whispers were barely audible this time. "You were…you were at the museum…"

"But I had no clue who you were. Not until I overheard your conversation...and read this," held up the envelope again.

Her throat had gone so dry, but as tears continued to flow down her face, she couldn't help but look at this man and admit how everything he said was resonating with her in a way that…made her _believe_ him. Again, she shook her head, hands gripping her scalp harder. "Uncle Bucky?" She rasped.

"Kim."

She gasped when he said her name, almost… _affectionately_?

He took another step forward, but she quickly took several steps back, raising her hands in a silent gesture to keep his distance. He moved no further.

Still, her attention remained on the face she'd only known in photographs since childhood. The same face, but there were differences in what she observed. There was no smile present, which she was used to seeing. Truth be told, this man looked as though he hadn't smiled in a very long time. The pain and rage swimming in his eyes; the way his posture seemed slightly hunched forward; the metallic arm that had been so cold against her skin…"Who did this to you?"

His tone was absolute when he said, "HYDRA."

She held her breath. In the back of her mind, she reminded herself of what Steve had said regarding his current mission, and how it involved HYDRA. _All I can tell you is that they destroyed the mind of someone I care about. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary in your area? Any suspicious people or activity?_

Destroyed his mind…Son of a bitch; it all made sense now. Retreating another step, she said, "You're the one Steve's looking for."

He said nothing, though seemed to wince when she said Steve's name.

"Oh, my God," she tore her eyes away, tangling her fingers into her hair. The sharp sting she felt wasn't enough to distract herself. "This is not real. It isn't real!" Her voice was still coming out so quietly, despite the intensity of her words. "Not real…not real…"

His left hand reached out to her. "Kim—"

Eyes bulging at the metal extension, she finally snapped. _"No!"_ She screeched, stumbling backwards again. "Stay away from me! Don't come any closer!"

He did as she commanded, letting his hand drop. "Listen to me: I won't hurt you. You're Sergeant Barnes' niece, and that makes you my—"

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" She covered her ears, blocking any further words from him. Her tears were coming rapidly now. "I can't…I can't deal with this right now…"

"Kim."

"Just leave me alone! _Please!_ " She shrieked, falling to her knees and covering her eyes as she cried uncontrollably, sobs wracking her body as she let the emotions rush through her. She didn't care how undignified it might have appeared; her mind simply couldn't handle everything that had been thrown at her in the past ten minutes. Between the wrenching sobs, she somehow managed to gasp, "J-just go away! Please…"

She cried. For everything she'd lost, was going to lose, and what had come back to haunt her, she cried. Hard, long, and relentlessly. She couldn't stop. It had been too much too fast, and her heart was mourning from the painful memories that had been resurrected.

Make it stop; please make it stop…

Several minutes later, her weeping had subsided significantly, though that didn't stop the tears from flowing. When she looked up again, she was not surprised to discover the man who'd claimed to be her long-lost uncle had disappeared. Gone. A ghost in the night. Save for the steady hum of insects, everything was still and silent. It was as though no one else had disturbed this place.

Except for one crucial piece of evidence: on the spot where he'd stood, he'd left the crumpled envelope containing the letter she'd written months ago. Taking a breath, she crawled over to retrieve it, shaking fingers stroking over the letters of _Sgt. James Barnes_ once more. Sniffling, she took the letter out to reread it, and was amazed at how soft and wrinkled the pages were in her hands. It was as though someone had read it at least a thousand times…

She could feel her own chin quivering, then cast a final glance into the trees. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't return.

The Winter Soldier, her mind whispered. Steve is out there looking for you.

Swaying ever so slightly—even in her seated position—she suddenly became aware of how fatigued she was by the night's events. Grabbing her iPhone from the grass, she pushed herself to stand on wobbly legs and took a moment to regain her balance, the letter clutched tightly in her hand. With a great, heaving sigh, she wrapped her arms around herself and made her way back into the house, desperately needing to seek the solace of sleep. She had a feeling her frantic thoughts and vacillating emotions wouldn't allow that to come true.


	2. Torn

It was amazing to see how peaceful Rebecca Proctor looked while sleeping. Despite the brutal treatments she'd undergone and the multitude of medications running through her veins, there were no traces of pain or discomfort in her slumber. Just undisturbed quiet in her features.

Outside, rain was still falling steadily and at times heavily, which thwarted any plans to go for a jog that day. That didn't bother Kim, though. She hadn't slept at all, and wouldn't be in good enough condition to go running anyway. She wished she could attain the level of peace displayed so easily by her grandmother while she napped, as opposed to the torrent of emotions still raging beneath her chest. It was because of what had taken place only last night: a strange man had emerged from her backyard and revealed himself to be James Buchannan Barnes.

She sighed, deeply and slowly. James Barnes. Bucky. Her great-uncle. The hero she'd come to know only through the stories told by her grandmother, and through the letters he'd written while in the army. The man she admired for his selfless acts of courage, and for his ability to put the needs of others before his own. One who died decades ago while serving his country.

But that last fact turned out to be untrue. He'd been standing right in front of her, and there was no denying the resemblance she saw to the man whose portrait hung downstairs.

Did she dare to believe it? That this man really was her uncle?

_Sergeant Barnes may have died, but the Winter Soldier lives._

The Winter Soldier. That strange name only intensified the confusion in her heart. She chewed on her lower lip. Could it be an elaborate hoax? Perhaps some clever ploy set up by HYDRA to manipulate her? Could the man have just been an excellent decoy sent to convince her that he really was Bucky?

_Who did this to you?_

_HYDRA._

The thought of his metal arm sent shivers through her. Normally, the sight of a prosthetic didn't faze her; she saw them in various forms at the physical therapy center, and even donned numerous models of her own for research purposes. She still couldn't get over how similar it was in appearance to hers, but something about his was vastly different. From what she could determine, it was more than just a replacement limb. The way it was shaped, the natural movement of the metal fingers, the impossible strength it possessed as it nearly crushed her body to him. If anything, it was more like an _extension_ of him. What had happened to warrant the need for this artificial arm?

She swallowed, wishing she could be absolutely sure of what her head and heart were trying to tell her, but at this point, she really didn't know what to think. Bucky Barnes; the Winter Soldier. Who was he?

_All I can tell you is that they destroyed the mind of someone I care about._

Destroyed his mind, Steve had said. He might no longer be the man she used to hear about, and that was what scared her.

But his eyes…God, she couldn't get the image of them out of her mind! The pain in their depths was one of the most haunting sights she'd ever seen. Combined with the pain were glimmers of guilt, and shame, and longing, and sorrow, all as he looked at her. The hardness of his exterior could mask none of it. What had happened to create such a broken man?

Those eyes. They'd seen right _into_ her…

Uncle Bucky.

_At ease, soldier._

Mutely, she shook her head, crossing her arms. All her life, she'd believed him to be dead. How could this have happened?

_Think of Steve Rogers, and it may be less difficult to accept._

Steve. He should have been the first person she contacted, should have told him she'd found the man he was looking for, the one with the metal arm. Should have told him that the man blamed HYDRA for his current state, just as Steve had accused. His best friend and comrade throughout the years back from the dead. She owed it to Steve to call him.

Except…she didn't. Steve had kept this a secret from her since April, and some part of her was… _angry_ at him for not being honest with her. No, she wasn't ready to confront him. Not yet.

A slight movement of Rebecca's right hand caught Kim's attention, the elder woman shifting slightly beneath the comforter before settling once more. Kim released the breath she'd been holding. Grandma, she thought. Staring at her only made matters worse. How could she ever tell her about this? Should she? If Bucky was alive, then that meant Rebecca still had a brother out there. Didn't she have a right to know? Could she accept the news in her condition? Or was it best to let her aged heart rest with the notion that her brother had died honorably in the fight against HYDRA and the axes powers back in World War II?

She didn't know; perhaps Steve underwent a similar debate when it came to telling her the truth. How she wished that Rebecca was still capable of speech, for she was desperate for her guidance.

Grandma, I need your help; what would you tell me to do? Funny thing was she knew exactly what her grandmother would say: _You're an adult now, Kim, and part of being an adult is figuring certain things out on your own. It's not always fun, but welcome to my world._ She sighed again at the bittersweet memory. It was one of the last things she'd said to her before the stroke.

I have no choice but to figure this out on my own. But how?

The only way you know how, another part of her answered.

But will it work?

You'll never know unless you try; and really, do you think you _can_ let this go?

She knew the answer to that one, too.

Jen then entered the room with fresh linens in hand, snapping her from thought. "Alright, time for me to get her bed changed, so I can take over for a while," she said quietly, glancing at her watch. "It's only two o'clock. Hope this rain lets up so you can get your jog in at some point."

Kim didn't respond, even though she'd heard.

Jen looked at her. "You okay, Kim?"

She blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, just tired."

"You definitely look it, sweetie," she went to the drawers to put away a few clothes. "Taking care of an elderly relative can really take its toll on you, but I have to say: you do an amazing job with your grandma. It's clear you both have a lot of love for one another."

She offered Jen a weak smile. "Thanks, Jen." She meant it.

"Why don't you go take a rest? Looks like a nap might do you some good right about now. Plus, if it does clear up, you'll have the energy to go for a run later."

Though awfully tempted by the suggestion, a different idea was dominating Kim's mind, telling her what she needed to do in order to begin finding answers. Rest wouldn't come until she gave into her psychological demands.

Standing and shoving her hands in her pockets, she said, "I'll rest later. I have some research I need to do first."

"Ah, something you're doing for Mr. Stark?"

For her benefit, she gave a slow nod of assent. "You know him: always has some sort of assignment for me, even in the summer."

"Come on, you just graduated from your courses last month; doesn't he think you deserve a break?"

She half-shrugged. "Hey, at the very least, he gives me things I don't mind researching." That was true, even though she had other intentions.

Thankfully, Jen conceded. "Okay. I've got her, so take as much time as you need."

That she would definitely be doing.

* * *

Steve had said it was for the best that she hadn't looked into HYDRA's files, but she refused to remain ignorant, especially if they'd been hiding information pertaining to her family. No matter how much online data might have been seized by the world's governments, they could not entirely erase the digital fingerprints that the SHIELD leak left behind in cyberspace.

Kim, now downstairs at the dining room table, was busy doing research on her laptop. Music played from her media player, since she didn't want Jen to become suspicious of her activities. At least she could make it seem like she was up to typical eighteen-year-old antics.

She stared at the screen, almost disbelieving what she saw. For the past hour or so, she'd been scouring various websites for as much information as she could find. What she discovered was that there was much out there regarding HYDRA. This was understandable, considering how the organization had grown beneath the guise of SHIELD since the 1940s. It could take months for a person to go through everything, perhaps even years.

However, her focus remained on one topic as she sifted through all the possible HYDRA information: the Winter Soldier. She swallowed hard as she opened yet another file, her eyes meeting the image of a man clad in dark clothes and an eerie mask. Everything she found regarding the acts he'd committed was straight out of a nightmare, and soft shuddering breaths passed through her barely parted lips. Agent of HYDRA. Subject born of Dr. Arnim Zola's genius. Expert in marksmanship and Soviet weaponry. Assassin extraordinaire. Responsible for at least twenty-four high-profile assassinations over the last half-century. To her surprise, she'd recognized several of them as key figures from her history classes in school: a scientist from Brazil who'd made strides in finding a cure for a specific strain of cancer; a Tibetan monk from 1974 who had the potential to become the next Dalai Lama; President Kennedy in 1963; he'd even been present in India to ensure the assassination of Gandhi didn't go awry; they were all people whose contributions would have made the world a better place in the future. Her stomach dropped when she ran across a newspaper headline announcing the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark.

Tony Stark's parents. So it hadn't been an accident after all. When she'd first seen that within the Winter's Soldier's files, she wondered if Mr. Stark knew about it.

The Winter Soldier killed them all, she thought, slowly shaking her head as she continued reading the reports. He killed Director Nick Fury; he tried to kill Steve during the HYDRA uprising in D.C. He tried to kill my friend.

And then another thought occurred to her: Steve said Bucky was a sharpshooter, and an _excellent_ one at that…

The most appropriate of song lyrics chose that very moment to play from her speakers.

_Why did you come here, just to break my heart again?_

_Why did you come here, just to sever my last remaining thread?_

_Why did you come here, just to watch me fall again?_

_Why did you come here, I'm on the edge…_

She released another shaky breath, then let her head fall into her hands. No matter how much she wanted to deny it, she knew it was true. Since the moment her mind recognized his face, her heart knew. The man who'd come to her was, indeed, her Great-Uncle Bucky. Alive. In the world. Part of her life for the first time.

But that also meant Bucky was the Winter Soldier, and therefore an agent of HYDRA. His resemblance to the man in those photos was too uncanny.

Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Bucky Barnes _is_ the Winter Soldier, she thought. Her great-uncle, the man she'd admired and loved from afar...it was _him_. He'd murdered all those people for an evil organization's gain. Her hero, her inspiration for all things good in life.

The thought made her chest ache terribly, and she began weeping silently into her palms. Always, she'd envisioned him watching over her from Heaven, making sure she was on the right path. Even if she knew she'd never meet him, there was no harm in daydreaming that he was there for her. When she was little, she pictured him scooping her up in his arms and holding her tightly to him, whether she was happy, sad, excited, or just wanted the comforting embrace of someone she trusted and loved. She'd dedicated so many physical therapy sessions to him, and even imagined him watching her proudly as she began walking again. Anything she did in life, she always included him in the back of her mind, wanting to keep his presence real, even if only in spirit. It never ceased to give her strength.

But now, she was so conflicted. Why would he join the enemy he once fought so hard to destroy? Why would he do such terrible things to people who didn't deserve to die? This was the man she admired since she was young...Had she been a fool for doing so?

_Who are you?_

_I was hoping you could tell me._

The thought of his pain-filled eyes entered her mind once again, and she felt her heart clench until she couldn't breathe. He'd been so shattered in appearance when he'd looked at her, and she knew there was something more she wasn't seeing. What that something was, she had no clue, but she felt her heart breaking for him.

Then she found herself reminiscing on her field trip to the Smithsonian only a few months ago, when she had visited the exhibit on Captain America. While the story of Steve's life was fascinating, her primary interest was in the details included about Bucky. His life served as the example Kim wanted to follow, especially after her suicide attempt. He made her realize how much good one could be capable of in his or her life, and she'd made it a goal to find out just how much she could accomplish. Because of him. For as long as she could remember, her greatest wish had been to meet the war hero who was her great-uncle.

_I agree with the boy; I wish he'd had a chance to meet you._

Guilt stabbed her repeatedly in the heart. She _had_ met him. In a bitter twist of fate, she'd unknowingly done so. Bumped right into him in the very place honoring his memory. He'd seen her; spoken to her; read the letter she left behind; knew the details from the darkest days of her past…and he'd eventually found her.

She remembered her conduct when he came to her, and what he tried to say: _You're Sergeant Barnes' niece, and that makes you my—_

She'd stopped him before he could say " _my_ great-niece." At the time, she just couldn't let herself believe it. Out of fear, she denied his words and ordered him to leave her sight.

You found me, and I pushed you away...

She sobbed, and in the back of her mind, she was glad the music muffled the mournful sounds. She was hurting. Hurting in very a familiar fashion that reminded her why she'd once been put on anti-depressants. It wasn't just because of the guilt coursing through her veins, but also because of an overwhelming feeling comparable to a sense of… _loss_. Like she'd lost a part of herself that she'd been cruelly denied due to circumstances of the past, and yet yearned for all her life. She'd lost her uncle because she'd been too afraid to accept the truth.

Oh God, she thought, eyes squeezing tightly shut. What if I never see him again? What if I really have lost him forever?

 _Uncle Bucky_ , even her inner voice sounded like a harsh whisper. I don't want to believe it. I don't want to believe that you could be capable of doing such terrible things, but you did. You did! What am I supposed to think? She pleaded silently. Why did you become the Winter Soldier? What's happened to you? These files say you did horrible things, but I _saw_ who you were behind your eyes last night. You're not that man; I _know_ you're not! So who are you? Who should I believe you to be? Help me, please help me.

Help me…

* * *

An insistent shaking at her shoulder startled Kim awake.

"Whoa, I'm sorry!" Jen said. "Didn't mean to spook you, but you can't be comfortable sleeping there. Why don't you head up to bed for the night?"

"Huh?" She lifted her head from the dining room table. When had she fallen asleep? How long had she been out? "Oh. What time is it?"

"Just after seven," she went to wash a few dishes in the sink. "I came down a few times while you were asleep, but you looked so exhausted, I didn't want to wake you."

To her surprise, she recognized the waning light of the late-day sun streaming through one of the west windows. It must have stopped raining just a short while ago, though humidity was still thick in the air.

She glanced at her laptop; the screen had gone black. Sleep mode; just as she had fallen into. Good thing she'd thought to plug in the power cord earlier so the battery didn't drain. She was just glad she'd dozed off before Jen had a chance to see her crying.

"Guess you'll have to get your jog in tomorrow when I get back." Jen said. Then she asked, "Who was that guy on your laptop, by the way?"

Kim gave her a sideways glance. "What guy?"

"That one in the mask," she loaded a few items into the dishwasher. "The first time I came down, your laptop hadn't gone into sleep mode, and I just caught a glimpse of him on the screen. Looked kind of freaky."

"Oh, that." It only took her a moment to come up with, "Just a still shot from a new _Nine Inch Nails_ video."

Jen gave a laugh. "I see. I've heard of them, but I'm not a big fan of their music. Way too heavy for my taste."

"Really good to exercise to, though," she went on, trying to sound as casual as possible, "especially if you have an overwhelming urge to just punch something. Helps to get the negative energy out of your system." She was rambling, but Jen laughed again, and despite the worries presently in her heart, Kim couldn't help but give a small smile at the happy sound. "Guess I needed the cat-nap."

"What you need is a solid eight hours of sleep in your own bed. If you don't rest up, you won't be in any shape to take care of your grandma, you hear me?"

"Yeah, I know," she conceded. "But I haven't danced for her yet."

Jen gave her a tolerant smile. "She'd understand if you took one night off, okay, Kim?"

Having another idea in mind that she kept to herself, she half-shrugged. "You might be right."

"I know I am," she smirked. "It's my job to look after people, remember? That includes you, even if you're not my patient," she went back to cleaning the rest of the kitchen. "So why don't you head up now? I'd rather know you're up in bed before I go. I can take care of everything down here, then I'll be on my way out."

* * *

She'd gone up to her room as advised, but that didn't mean Kim was ready to call it a night. Once she heard the front door click shut with Jen's exit, she sat cross-legged on her bed, opening her laptop once again. Since there was no doubt in her mind that the Winter Soldier was, indeed, Bucky, there was no point in trying to prove their connection. Not anymore. It was time to move on to something else, and that was to discover what had led to Bucky's transformation into the HYDRA agent. Was it of his own will? Did he have a legitimate reason for siding with his enemies? How did he become affiliated with HYDRA to begin with?

They were answers she was having difficulty finding on her own, so it was time to enlist the help of someone who _could_ help her. For a moment, she thought about the family she had left: Grandma; Aunt Laura; Steve, who was like family to her. That was it. She could count on one hand the people she had in her family, and still had fingers to spare.

Then she thought of Bucky. Cold-blooded killer or not, he, too, was family, and nothing mattered more to her than that. As such, she felt a responsibility to find out what happened to him. She had to know. For his sake, as well as her own.

Clicking the Skype icon, she found the number she wanted and requested a video call. Probably won't be available, she thought, touching fingertips to her cheeks. They felt very warm, and were probably red from the tears she'd shed. He might be in the middle of dinner, or some business matter for _Stark Industries_ , but at least I can let him know that I'm trying to get in—

To her mild surprise, the call was accepted, and she was met by the image of Tony Stark on the other end of the video feed. Whoa, lucky break. At first, he wasn't looking at her; judging by his goggles and his concentration off-camera, he must have been tinkering with something in his lab.

"Been almost a week since you've updated your blog," he said nonchalantly. "Not getting distracted by boys, are you?"

She knew he'd meant it in jest, but her eyebrows shot up. If only he understood the irony of his question.

Then he actually turned to look at her, and any trace of amusement vanished from his features. He lifted the goggles, and when she saw his concerned brown eyes, something inside her finally relaxed. "Hey," she exhaled. She wasn't sure what else to say.

"Hey yourself," he frowned. "You look like hell, kiddo."

Unable to help it, the corners of her mouth twitched upward. Since she'd met him, one of her favorite traits about Stark was his blunt honesty. He'd always tell it like it was, even if a person didn't want to hear it. She appreciated that. In a way, it reminded her of Grandma, who could be brutally honest if she found it necessary.

She didn't doubt the truth of his words, either. Lack of sleep and a great deal of crying probably left her looking like a wreck. "Kind of feel like hell."

"Your grandma?"

He was already well-versed on Rebecca's condition, and insisted on the latest updates straight from Kim. But she gave a bare shake of her head. "It's not about her, Mr. Stark—"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "We're long past formalities, Kimbo. It's Tony. Please."

The knot in her stomach loosened even more. For some reason, he made it a point to be gentler with her than with most people he dealt with, and right now, it was a relief. "Tony," she restated.

"Better. Now, what is it, Kim?"

She licked her lips. "You know the SHIELD and HYDRA files that were leaked back in April?"

"You kidding me? It was like Christmas came early for this good little boy."

Yep, typical Tony Stark for you. She hesitated just a moment. "So you've gone through HYDRA's files."

"It'll take years to go through everything, but some of the information I've seen so far would give most people indefinite issues with insomnia."

She gave a nod. "I don't doubt that," she said flatly.

His brow furrowed at her statement. "Sounds like you might know more about them than you're letting on," he leaned onto his elbows. "So what is it, Kim? What exactly are you looking for?"

Stark had more insight than most people gave him credit for. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I need your help. I need you to tell me everything you know about a HYDRA agent called the Winter Soldier."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics from "Edge of the World," by The Cruxshadows


	3. Truth and Lies

To her relief, Aunt Laura called to say she'd contracted strep throat and wouldn't be visiting that weekend; she didn't want to run the risk of infecting her already sick mother. Plus, Jen's shifts ended early on the weekends, which gave Kim more of an opportunity to be alone. For this, she was quietly grateful, since there was a great deal she needed to absorb, and a great deal think to about.

It was Saturday evening. Two days had passed since her conversation with Stark. Two days since his promise to give her the assistance she requested, and two days since he'd made good on that promise. He'd warned her, though; being familiar with her family history, he warned her that she wouldn't like what she saw, and that should have been enough to confirm her worst fears.

Down in the dining room, Kim had barely touched the tabbouleh and grapes leaves combo Jen had been kind enough to pick up for her that day. She knew she needed to eat, but it was difficult to conjure up an appetite because of what was currently displayed on her laptop screen. The information Stark had e-mailed was a series of confidential HYDRA lab reports that were previously inaccessible during her research, all written in a language she couldn't understand. Greek? Russian, maybe? She didn't know. Stark, of course, had the foresight to provide her with translated copies, and their contents didn't remain a mystery for long.

Название: Джеймс Барнс( _Subject Name: James Barnes_ )

Дата рождения: 1917 г. ( _Born: 1917_ )

Род занятий: сержант, армия Соединенных Штатов Америки ( _Occupation: Sergeant, United States Army_ )

The pieces were slowly coming together. Bucky fell from that train in 1944, but he never died; he was found by the wrong people at the right time, whose intentions toward the world were less than honorable; and he'd been transformed into the dangerous adversary known as the Winter Soldier, whose deeds were no longer unknown to her.

Stark was right; she didn't like what she saw, but it wasn't because the documents officially confirmed the Winter Soldier's identity as her uncle. It was because of the grim details contained within those notes. Glossing over most of the medical jargon, she picked out the information that made sense to her.

… _subject discovered in the mountains by members of General Karpov's ground crew…_

… _body partially submerged in waters of a small stream…_

… _mild symptoms of hypothermia and blunt force trauma to prefrontal cortex detected, but body recovering at an accelerated rate…_

… _severe tearing to blood vessels and tissues, otherwise upper arm remarkably well-preserved due to exposure to frigid waters. No traces of gangrene or frostbite present…_

… _subject will make ideal specimen…_

Some of those notes were hand-written in yet another language, and she had to wonder if she'd stumbled across synopses scribed by Dr. Zola himself. Subject…specimen…the man has a _name_ , she thought.

But it was the gruesome image accompanying the notes and diagnostic summaries that absolutely tore her heart in two: Bucky, after what must have been that fateful fall, strapped down to an operating table, a look of pained fatigue and terror in his eyes, a mangled, bloody stump where his left arm had been ripped off…

 _Фаза 1_ , the caption on the photo read. _Phase 1_.

A twinge of nausea caused her to look away. Even though she'd reviewed this report at least a dozen times, it never got any easier to see him like that. As horrid as it was, it explained the need for the bionic arm. Bionic, not prosthetic as she initially thought. No wonder it seemed more advanced than her own prosthesis.

When the ill sensation passed, she turned her eyes back to the screen. Scrolling down, she once again found a picture of him after the metallic arm had been successfully attached. One of her own hands absently rested on the knee of her prosthetic leg. It was unsettling how similar it was in appearance to his arm, even if their functionalities were somewhat different. She shivered at the memory of that arm wrapped around her. It had felt so, so cold. And so damn _strong_. HYDRA had turned Bucky into this. For a moment, the nausea returned when she realized that she could no longer blame HYDRA for Bucky's death. They'd actually been responsible for _saving_ his life.

But she mentally sneered at the thought. No; they might have saved his body, but they'd completely ruined his mind. She'd seen some of the other files describing the various techniques they'd used to warp his psyche. Hypnosis. Isolation. Sessions of physical abuse that lasted for days at a time. Experimentation with different doses of LSD. Varying degrees of electroshock therapy. Clicking on another folder, she re-read a report that was dated 1963, the year President Kennedy was killed: _Administered 240 volts. Subject still uncooperative, increased voltage to 250. Submission achieved. Activated neural-conditioning program #9 for cognitive recalibration. Reprograming complete._

Brainwash, she whispered to herself. It was no wonder he had such a tormented look in his eyes. They'd been wiping his memory after every mission over the past seventy years. He may have committed those acts, but based on the information she'd gathered from HYDRA's documents, his actions were never of his own volition.

Steve was right; they _had_ destroyed his mind, and in doing so destroyed the man he was. In a sense, they were still responsible for the death of Bucky Barnes.

You… _bastards,_ her mind hissed. Death would have been more of a blessing than the life they'd forced him to take on.

Did he have any memories before HYDRA corrupted him?

Very softly, she sighed. There were other photos of Bucky contained within the files. Haunting black-and-white photographs that showed him receiving bionic upgrades in a crude lab setting, though with surprisingly advanced looking equipment; sparring with members of an organization called the KGB, according to the caption; honing his firearm skills amongst rough-looking terrain. They were old images, and appeared as though they belonged in a bygone handbook on combat methods.

But the most striking image of all was the lone color photograph she pulled up once again. An archival image of Bucky locked away in some sort of freezing chamber—cryotube, the term from the latest _Star Trek_ movie came to mind. According to the files, HYDRA kept him imprisoned in cryostasis between missions, holding him captive until the next time they required his services.

It's no damn wonder he's hardly aged, she thought, remembering his youthful face from days ago. Youthful, and yet one that had clearly seen a great deal over time.

She continued to stare at the sleeping man trapped beneath the thick layer of glass, his skin blue-toned from the freezing process he'd undergone. Uncovering the truth about the Winter Soldier had been a major shock to Kim's heart, but so much of her already knew what she was getting into when she decided to pursue it further. As such, she'd already been through every possible emotion a person could feel, had already shed sufficient tears for his fate, had mourned that which had been lost long ago to her so long ago. That was enough for her. Enough tears, enough crying. He might no longer be the same person she thought she knew, but ever since Bucky came to her, she knew she'd stop at nothing to find him again. Even if it only meant finding him through the research that had only begun to scratch the surface. It was better than nothing at all.

Reaching out, she brushed two fingertips over the image of Bucky's frozen face in the cryotube. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she could almost feel the biting cold through the screen. At least I know the truth, she thought to him, and I know you're out there…Uncle Bucky. She could finally say to herself it without the notion twisting her heart.

Uncle Bucky, she repeated in her mind, you've always been part of my world, and I didn't know…

A vibration in her pocket pulled her from her thoughts. She'd been ignoring calls from her friends at the physical therapy center all week, so she wouldn't be surprised if one of them was calling now. When she pulled out her iPhone to glance at the caller ID screen, however, she froze. An acute wave of anger rolled through her, and she initially was tempted not to answer Steve's call. But Kim quickly thought better of it. Regardless of how mad she might be, Steve was still her friend, and she cared about him. She would have to face him eventually.

Taking a deep breath, she accepted the call and brought the receiver to her ear. "Hey."

"Hi, Kim. I know it's only been a few days since I last called, but I wanted to check on you and Rebecca. How's everything going?"

She didn't answer his question right away.

"Kim? You there?" He persisted. "Kim? Are you al—"

"I'm here," she interrupted.

"Oh. Hey, are you alright?"

"Steve."

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

It was now or never. "That my Uncle Bucky is alive."

It was his turn to go silent for a time, and she could almost hear the gears in his head come to a grinding halt. Obviously, that was the last thing he expected to hear.

She took advantage of his silence and went on. "He's the friend you're looking for, isn't he." It was more of a statement than a question. "It's Bucky."

More silence. Then, "Kim, I—"

"I've already been mad at you, Steve," she interrupted, keeping her voice relatively steady. She had a tendency to sound deceptively calm when she was angry, which Steve was well aware of. "Part of me is still mad at you, but I didn't answer your call just to pick a fight. I want to hear the truth, and I want to hear it from you."

His silence lingered on for at least another minute before he finally spoke. "What do you know about him?"

Not a confirmation or a denial. Clever move. She took a deep breath before replying, "That he's the Winter Soldier," she hesitated a moment. It was the first time she'd acknowledged it was him out loud. "That he's the one who tried to kill you in D.C."

Steve became quiet again. It was the first conversation they'd ever had with that was peppered with awkward pauses. "How did you find out?"

"Someone I know came forward and said I should look into it." Technically, that was true; someone _had_ come forward and suggested there might be a link between her great-uncle and this HYDRA agent. She just omitted the fact that that someone happened to be her Uncle Bucky, and he'd ambushed her in the backyard a few nights ago. No need to set him on edge with that news.

"What else do you know?"

"More than enough," she said quietly.

Eventually, she heard him release a slow breath on the other end. "We need to talk."

"You're damn right we do."

He let that slide. "I should have guessed you'd find out sooner or later; I just wish it hadn't been sooner." At least he wasn't trying to play dumb with her. "What is it you want to hear from me?"

She rested her elbows on the table, gazing at the color image of Bucky on her laptop. "I want you to tell me everything that happened in D.C., and not just the overview you gave me last time. I want to know everything that happened with _him_."

* * *

For the next hour or so, they talked, expounding on what they'd come to learn about the Winter Soldier—about Bucky Barnes in the twenty-first century. Steve elaborated on what had taken place during the week he'd been labeled a fugitive by enemies within SHIELD. He discussed the first night he ever encountered the elusive Winter Soldier; the discovery of Dr. Zola's conscious mind in the computers of a hidden lab, and the real purpose behind project INSIGHT; the day he, Natasha and Sam were attacked on a D.C. freeway by a group of HYDRA agents, who were led by none other than the Winter Soldier; the moment he unmasked the assassin and recognized him as his best friend; coming to the realization that the experimentation Zola did on Bucky in 1943 helped him survive that fall; the gut-wrenching details of their battle aboard the last Helicarrier, when Bucky nearly beat him to death with that impossibly strong robotic arm; and the moment of clarity he had once Steve referenced a promise made between friends long ago…

Without her permission, more tears had squeezed free during his account. Amazing; she figured she'd be all cried out by now. Perhaps it had to do with the sound of Steve's voice, which was laced with notes of regret. It affected her more than she wanted to admit.

When he'd finished, she let out a shaky sigh. "He remembered you," her voice was a bare whisper.

"Yes. That was the moment he realized he couldn't bring himself to finish his mission. Whether he remembered anything beyond that, I don't know. When I came to in the hospital, he was long gone."

No, he was at the Smithsonian bumping into me, she mutely countered. "He remembered," she echoed, feeling a tightness in her chest. This time, it wasn't an uncomfortable sensation. "He couldn't kill you."

"No."

Something Steve said had jogged his memory, and she wasn't sure why the thought it made her heart pound a little faster. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she attempted to ward off anymore oncoming tears. "What I don't understand," her voice wavered a bit, "is that you've known about this for over three months, but you never said anything to me. That man is my great-uncle, and you of all people know exactly how much I've looked up to him over the years. He's not just a memory of my family's past anymore; he's alive. Why would you intentionally keep this a secret from me?"

Another pause. She really wished she was talking to Steve face-to-face right now. "My only objective was to protect you, Kim."

She almost gave a harsh laugh. "Protect me…"

"Yes, protect you," Steve stated firmly.

At that, it was she who became quiet. She knew better than to cross him when he used that tone.

Judging by his strategic pauses, she could tell he was trying to gauge her emotions, as well as gather his own thoughts before speaking. "I do know what he means to you, because he meant just as much to me. This wasn't how I wanted to carry things out, and I'm sorry if my secrecy has hurt you. That wasn't my intention at all. But you need to understand that I won't apologize for doing everything I possibly could to keep you from harm, whether physically or emotionally. I really felt I was doing what was best for you, especially with everything you have going on with your grandmother. You have enough to worry about right now, and I didn't want to add to your stress or your grief with the truth about Bucky."

Damn him for finding logical reasoning behind his actions.

"Besides," he continued, "after everything that's happened, there were questions I needed to find answers to. Believe me when I say it was as much of a shock to me as I'm sure it was to you."

You don't know the half of it, she thought dryly.

"I didn't want you knowing that side of him; it would have broken your heart. It was hard for _me_ to accept, and to be honest, it still is. My life-long best friend has been alive all these years, and he's been working for the very organization we vowed to take down back during the war. He took out several SHIELD agents in order to get to me."

"Because you were his mission," she quoted one of the reports.

"Because I was his mission. A lot of people died because of what they made him do. And anytime I looked at him…" He broke off, then huffed out a breath. "I know he's still in there, but he's not the same man."

It was that statement in particular that struck her, and made her think of Bucky's eyes again when he looked at her. His pain-filled eyes…"Will he ever get all his memories back?"

"I don't know, but that's why I need to find him. I need to do what I can to help him."

She found herself wishing she could do the same. "Steve," she said softly, "I have a question for you, and I want you to be honest with me."

"I'm always honest."

"I know," she stood and moved to the sliding glass door, where she stared out at the trees in the backyard. All was still and quiet in the golden light of the evening. "You were actually with Bucky that week, so tell me something: should I be afraid of him?"

When he went quiet again, she could almost sense the tilt in his head as he mulled over what she just said. "Kim, have you seen him around? Is that why you're asking me this?"

Somehow, she knew that one was coming. "No," she lied carefully. "I'm asking because I need to know what to do in case I ever do see him." She spoke very casually in order to avoid suspicion, and hoped she sounded convincing enough. "Since you had a run-in with him, you'd be the best person to ask." Please believe me. _Please_ believe me. "Should I be afraid?"

Luckily, he seemed to accept her explanation. "I don't want to say it, Kim, but yes; I think you need to exercise extreme caution when it comes to him. You've read HYDRA's reports, so you know how dangerous he is to anyone he perceives as a threat. Even though you're related to him, I have no way of predicting how he'd react to you, but I can guess what would happen if he ever sees you as a target. He could hurt you—or kill you—without a second thought, and if I can prevent that from happening, I will. I don't want you or Rebecca to get hurt."

She briefly pressed her lips into a worried line. "Steve?"

"Yes?"

"What do I tell Grandma? He's her brother, so doesn't she have a right to know about this?"

"I'm not sure if knowing would do her any good at this point, but I'm going to leave that up to you to decide. You're her granddaughter, and you know what's best for her."

Figure it out for myself, she reflected on her Grandma's words to her. Looks like that'll be happening sooner than I thought, she mused, and there will be other decisions I make for myself, too. All she said in reply was, "Okay."

"Hey, we're okay, right? You and I?"

She couldn't help it; the slight worry in his voice made her smile softly. "Yeah, Steve, we're fine. I just have a lot to think about right now. I might get mad at you once in a while, but it doesn't mean I hate you."

"I'm just making sure," there finally seemed to be a smile in his voice.

"Well, you're as stuck with me as I am with you."

He gave a chuckle. "Good. So what's next, Kim? You obviously know what I'm doing in my absence, so what about you? What's your next step now that you know the truth about Bucky?"

She gave a half-shrug. "Just keep doing research, I guess. See what else I can find on him and HYDRA. Better to keep myself informed as much as possible, right?"

"Absolutely," Steve said. "Keep in mind, though, that HYDRA's done a lot of things over the years that'll be hard to digest at first, so be prepared."

You and Tony should talk, she thought.

"But just promise me one thing," he said. "Promise you won't go out and try looking for him yourself. That could be asking for trouble you don't need. Leave that to me, okay?"

She was glad he couldn't see her slowly raise an eyebrow as she contemplated his statement. "Yeah," she said, her gaze never leaving the trees. "Yeah, Steve. I can do that."

" _Promise_ me," he stressed.

"I promise," she repeated sincerely.

A sigh of genuine relief came from his end of the phone. "That's all I ask. Thank you, Kim."

Glancing over at the clock on the wall, she saw it was close to seven-thirty. "I should probably get going so I can check on Grandma."

"Yeah, we have been talking for quite a while."

"I'm glad we did."

"Same here. Are you going to tell Rebecca?"

She shook her head out of conversational habit. "I don't know yet."

"That's okay; there's no need to rush into any decisions tonight. Just remember that I will do everything I can to protect you, but you have to let me know if and when you need my help."

"I'll remember, Steve. Thanks."

"Anytime. I'll give you a call in a few days to see how you're doing, but until then, you take care of yourself, okay?"

"Likewise."

"Love you, kiddo."

"Love you, too."

Pressing her thumb to the end-call button, Kim let her gaze linger outside for a little while longer, eyes fixated on the green leaves of the trees. The place where Bucky had come from only days ago.

Yes, I can promise that I won't go looking for him, she thought, but that doesn't mean that _he_ can't come looking for _me_.

She sighed gently. There were many things to consider after her conversation with Steve, and one of the most important things he'd said was regarding the potential harm Bucky could cause her. She wasn't so sure that she agreed with him. Slowly wrapping her arms around herself, she envisioned his metallic arm encircling her, recalling how _tightly_ it had squeezed. But when Bucky realized he'd hurt her, he'd loosened his grip. And when she told him to leave, he'd left. In her heart, she knew he didn't mean her any harm. Was that really something to be feared?

I don't know, she thought as she watched the outside world in contemplative silence.

* * *

In Rebecca's room, Kim quietly placed the needle on the record, turned the volume low, then came to her grandmother's bedside as notes from Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" gently played. She liked this one; it calmed her.

Much like that morning, the sight of the elderly woman made her already aching heart swell with immense sorrow. It seemed like every time she saw Rebecca, she became frailer and frailer in appearance, even with the mere passing of days. Kim chewed on her lower lip. It was becoming apparent that she didn't have much longer left with the woman who had helped change her life, and she felt her chin start to quiver at the thought. But she steeled herself against the urge to cry. She couldn't fall to pieces in front of Grandma. Not for any reason.

Exhaling softly, Kim came to run a gentle hand over her grandmother's brow. It took a moment, but once she detected the contact, Rebecca's eyes slowly peeled open, revealing the tired green pools beneath her eyelids. Her chest rose prominently beneath the comforter when she saw her granddaughter.

"Hey Grandma," Kim gave her a smile, hoping she'd be forgiven for skipping their sessions the past few nights. "We're going to dance tonight," she declared, moving to pull her chair up to the bed. "But first, there's something I want to read to you."

In her hands was the letter she'd written to Sergeant Bucky Barnes. The one that had been left in their backyard the other night. The one that had been read so many times that is was as soft as tissue when she pulled it from the envelope. She remembered re-writing it so many times, never truly satisfied with how it sounded. Even now, she didn't think it was good enough, but considering the condition it was now in…Bucky must have considered it worthwhile enough to subject it to so many readings.

She blinked at the strange warmth that suddenly blossomed within her chest. Pleasant warmth compared to the incessant burn of heartache she'd felt all week.

Letting the thought pass, she went on. "I've been thinking about Uncle Bucky a lot lately—" boy was _that_ the understatement of the year, "—and I didn't tell you about this, but I wrote a letter to him a few months ago. Both you and Dr. Lakewood used to tell me that writing can be very therapeutic, and you guys were right." As she carefully unfolded the wrinkled pages, Rebecca subtly arched her right eyebrow, and Kim knew she was genuinely interested in what she had to say about her brother. "I was just going to keep it between me and him, but now I want you to hear what I wrote. I think you have a right to know what's been on my mind."

And even though I'm not saying it right out, this is my way of telling you that he's here, she thought. He never really left.

Maybe it had to do with the angle she was seeing her from, but Kim seemed to detect a smile hiding beneath her grandmother's still face. That alone hit her hard, but she pushed the emotions aside for the time being, placing a hand atop her grandmother's right one. She knew she'd be able to feel it on that side.

"Okay, here goes." With the notes of the sonata continuing as her background accompaniment, she began reading the contents of the letter aloud, all the words written back in April, all of them straight from her heart. "'Dear Uncle Bucky, I'm not sure what's compelling me to write to you, but I feel it's something I need to do…'"


	4. Reunion

By the time Rebecca was resting comfortably, the darkness of night had finally descended upon the outside world.

Downstairs, Kim quietly exited from the sliding glass door, easing it closed behind her with a soft click. For a moment, her fingers lingered on the handle, not quite ready to let go. She hadn't stepped foot in the backyard since that first night, and even though nothing appeared unusual to her eyes, she remained alert, scanning her surroundings very carefully. All was still and quiet, save for the crickets and frogs ceaselessly eliciting their mismatched melodies. She wondered if she might hear any twigs snap in a tell-tale manner.

Exhaling slowly, Kim released the door handle and walked forward, taking her time as she took in every possible detail out here, from the shadows cast by light shining from the house windows behind her, to the rustling whisper of leaves as soft breezes passed. At the same time, her mind reflected on the long conversation between her and Steve, and how he'd advised her not to go looking for Bucky. For her safety, he wanted her to stay away from the man labeled a threat. She was going to keep her promise to him, but…

Halfway between her house and the trees, she came to a stop. The cold front that had passed through with the rain left behind cooler night temperatures, which caused the skin of her bare arms to feel slightly chilled. Despite this, it felt good to be outside as opposed to staying cooped up in the house for the past two days. Slowly crossing her arms, she just stood there, staring intently at the darkened vegetation at the far end of the yard. As she continued to let her thoughts surface, she gave a quiet sigh, feeling her shoulders sag slightly. It was the first time in quite a while that she was acknowledging how _lonely_ she felt. Even though she had people who loved and cared about her—friends at the therapy center, the kids she worked with, Stark, Steve, and (for all her faults) Aunt Laura—she couldn't deny the fact that she was closer and closer to losing her grandmother. She was still trying to be strong, but she had her limits. The best person she could have ever been blessed with was dying. For all that Kim was currently going through, and all that she'd come to know about her great-uncle's fate, it couldn't overshadow that which had always been most important to her.

Grandma, she thought, her hands squeezing her arms. It's going to hurt so badly when you're gone. An overwhelming desire to simply be held in her grandmother's arms seized her heart, an act that could never again be replicated—

The familiar sting behind her sinuses prompted her to give a shake of the head. God damn it, stop it already! She ordered herself sternly. Stop crying!

Closing her eyes, she drew in a breath, then blew it out slowly through her lips. Stop it, she repeated, a lot calmer this time. When she opened them again, she glanced at the trees to the right, then gradually turned her head to the left. Then, in a voice that wavered slightly from pent up tears, she asked one question to the small patch of woods. "Are you here?"

"Yes."

She snapped her head back to the right, swallowing the gasp that tried to escape her throat. Her heart pounded heavily within her chest, as she hadn't expected an instant response. It had only been one word, but her ears instantly knew that deep voice. Despite being startled, she managed to keep herself relatively composed, and her eyes searched that portion of the woods. At first, she saw nothing. "W-where are you?"

There was a slight movement behind one of the closest tree trunks, and sure enough, she saw the partial outline of his form. He remained mostly obscured by darkness and shadows, but she knew it was him. Instinctively, she hugged herself tighter. Not out of fear; just nervousness. "Did you ever really leave?"

"No."

Somehow, that didn't surprise her. Why did you stay? She wanted to ask, but didn't. Summoning her courage, she took a few steps in his direction and said, "You don't have to hide. Will you come out where I can see you?" When she detected a hint of hesitation in his body language, she gently added, "Please."

There seemed to be a further moment of reluctance on his part, but she waited patiently, letting him take as much time as he needed. Her persistence paid off when he came forward with slow, measured steps. She felt her pulse pound a little harder as he gradually came into view, his bionic arm prominent among his attributes. His head was bowed as he emerged from the woods, long hair falling around his face as he avoided making eye contact. He kept several feet of distance between them, and when he came to a stop, he went still for what felt like a long minute. Then, he visibly sighed, raising his eyes to finally meet hers. Even in the darkness surrounding them, his features were quite clear.

Kim felt herself draw in a breath. It was the same face she'd seen the other night, and the same one she'd known ever since she was a little kid. Her great-uncle was standing before her yet again. Arms still crossed over her chest, she sighed and quietly said, "Bucky."

He tilted his head forward a degree, still maintaining eye contact. "At ease, soldier."

"Well met, Sergeant," she replied.

His eyes widened a bit at her statement. The formal salutation was one she'd picked up from her grandfather years ago, and she was certain no one had called Bucky by that title in a very long time. It must have sounded strange to him.

For a while, he remained silent. Then, "You look tired."

She arched her eyebrows, but didn't question a master assassin's ability to detect such qualities in the dark. By this point, her heart was hammering, which made her sound a little breathless when she said, "Yeah."

He kept his gaze locked with hers. "You didn't tell Steve about me."

"No. Wait—how'd you know I talked to him?"

"Windows were left open."

Oh, right. Jen had opened some of the windows earlier to take advantage of the cooler weather. So he hadn't been confining himself to the woods the entire time.

"He's your friend," he went on, "but you didn't tell him. Why?"

He's your friend, too, she thought. "Because I don't think you want to be found by him yet."

He went silent again, staring into her eyes with a look of complete and utter shame. "I…almost killed him."

"But you didn't," she said calmly, clearly. "You didn't. Steve's okay, and he's out there looking for you."

His breaths were shuddering. "I almost… _killed_ him."

"Hey, don't do that to yourself," she carefully asserted, keeping her voice as soothing as possible. "You're Steve's best friend, and that won't change in his mind. It was HYDRA who made you do what you did. They erased your memory and programmed you to take out their enemies, and that included Steve. But you didn't realize what you were doing, did you?"

He said nothing.

"Did you?"

All too soon, she could sense him withdrawing into himself, and he turned back towards the woods. "I should go."

"No!" She started quickly, reaching out for him. She stopped when he froze in place, the left side of his body now facing her. From the way he was angling his head, though, she got the impression that he was waiting for her to speak. Letting her arm drop, she said the first thing that came to mind. "I don't want you to go."

He didn't move, just stood there as solid as a statue. "I don't deserve to be near you."

"That's for me to decide."

He sounded strained when he proclaimed, "I frightened you."

"No…"

"I did before," he insisted, hanging his head.

His tone suggested remorse, which suddenly filled her with acute sorrow. Feeling her pulse decrease in speed, she sighed and felt her features soften. "You did last time, but it's just that..." She trailed off, then tried again, keeping her voice as steady as possible. "You'd been dead all my life, and then I suddenly found out it wasn't true. It's not easy to have that suddenly smack you in the face. I wasn't sure how to handle it at first."

He continued to keep his gaze averted, and Kim worried that perhaps he'd take off without warning. But very gradually, he turned to face her again, and she was mildly surprised to see the genuine interest emanating from his eyes. "And now?"

Now? She also wondered to herself, then took a step towards him. As she did, he visibly tensed and clenched both hands into fists at his sides. Seeing this, she halted. It was more than apparent that he still needed his space, and she wouldn't push her luck. Funny; he'd initially tried to get in such close proximity to her, but now their roles were reversed. His actions caused the sorrow in her heart to intensify. "Bucky," she said reassuringly, "it's okay."

His eyes snapped shut when she'd said his name, and she could see him trying to cope with whatever emotions were surfacing. "No," he hoarsely whispered. "You should fear me."

"Why?" She pressed.

"You know what I am," his voice wavered, "the things I've done, those I've killed. You know more about who I am now than I do."

"Yes," she didn't deny it.

"Then you know what I'm capable of," his nostrils flared as he opened his eyes. "You know I could kill _you_."

She waited briefly, and even though her stomach dropped at his suggestion, she answered, "Yes."

He seemed to detect something in her reply, based on the way he suddenly inclined his head. "Then you should still fear me; you were wise to fear me to begin with. I'm a danger to you."

She raised her chin only a few centimeters, but it was a mildly defiant gesture. "Then why have you stayed here and kept watch over me? That's what you've been doing, isn't it?" He said nothing. She thought about being entrapped by that metal arm, and her gaze didn't falter when she asked, "Have you come to kill me?"

" _No_ ," he rasped, turning his head again.

She believed him. "Do you want to hurt me?"

"No," he repeated.

"Okay. Just one more question: do you really want me to be afraid of you?"

She quietly watched him debate that in his head, noting the subtle changes in his face when dealing with an instance of doubt, or confusion, or pain. There was so much going on in there, and she simply waited. These frequent pauses were reminiscent of her conversation with Steve, although now there was nothing awkward about it. It was just best for them both to take it slow. Very, very slow. Eventually, his shoulders sagged with a long exhale of breath, and a sense of control seemed to return to his features. When he turned to lock eyes with her once again, she saw in his face the same longing and heartache that had been present with her all week. It caused tears to pool at the bottoms of her eyes, whether she liked it or not. "You're not the person HYDRA's turned you into," she stated. "They made you do all those horrible things, but you didn't have any choice. I know you didn't."

For some reason, his head gave a small jerk. She swallowed, but wasn't spooked. "And no matter what you might think, or what you try to say, it doesn't change the fact that you're a part of my family."

Something flashed through Bucky's eyes then, almost like a sense of—disbelief? Gratitude? Hope? She couldn't quite define it. The barest tilt of his head made him appear curious; in a way, he was almost child-like with such mannerisms. "You're…not afraid of me," his voice was still intense.

Her eyes never leaving his, she shook her head "no." As she did, her pulse slowed even more, her muscles relaxed, and she legitimately felt most of the apprehension disappear from her heart. Even if she came to learn that he'd killed thousands of people as the Winter Soldier, she remembered what HYDRA had done to make him obedient.

No, I'm not afraid of you, Uncle Bucky, she thought, and it was true.

Maybe she was seeing things, but Kim could have sworn that he straightened a little in front of her. It made him seem taller, and she was grateful for the minute change. "Why are you here, Bucky?" She asked again.

He began to utter words in a foreign language that left Kim's brow furrowing. Based on the accent he used, it sounded like some form of Russian. That made sense, considering who he'd spent a majority of his time with over the years. It was interesting to hear, but didn't make sense. "I don't understand."

"'Family,'" he translated, "'is a haven in a heartless world.'"

That was like a dagger of sweet pain in her heart. Whether he'd come up with that on his own, or if it was a quote he'd heard somewhere, she didn't care. What he'd said was perfect, and the next wave of quiet tears began to roll down her face. She did nothing to stop them.

"You are family, Kim, and I came to protect my family."

I know, she thought, and didn't question why he thought she needed protection.

His mouth opened and closed twice before he got out, "My…my great-niece."

The sweet pain grew hotter in her chest. He finally finished the phrase she'd once put a stop to, and hearing the words made her give a faint, shaky smile. Bucky blinked, and though he didn't smile in return, he continued to hold her gaze with a sense of awe in his eyes.

After a while, she lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and sheepishly asked, "Should we hug now?"

That caused his eyes to widen a second time, and Kim saw the uncertainty that suddenly crossed his features. "I…" He couldn't seem to get the next words out. Or maybe he was intentionally holding them back. Either way, Kim waited, and after releasing a sigh, Bucky spoke in a hushed tone. "I might hurt you."

He doesn't trust himself with me, she realized. Well, Bucky, that's a risk we're just both going to have to take…

Sniffing back tears, Kim decided to simply act on pure instinct and stepped towards him, aiming to close the remaining distance between them. Already, she could see his chest expanding as he held his breath, hands clenching into fists yet again. She kept her actions slow and deliberate, all the while keeping her eyes locked with his. He stared back. Yes, he was nervous, and she could sense it. But she wanted him to _see_ her, wanted him to understand that she ultimately meant him no harm, wanted him to know that she trusted him not to hurt her. Stupid move? Maybe, but there was no turning back now. She saw him swallow hard as she came to a stop in front of him, great-niece looking up to great-uncle. As often as she'd dreamed of this, she never dared to think that someday, this would actually come true. She could detect the faint scent of metal, sweat, and dirt clinging to him. From his photos, she'd always believed he would smell like fresh cologne, but this was very different from what she'd expected. It wasn't an offensive odor, though. He smelled like the outdoors, like he'd spent days out in the rain and wind and sun, which he probably had, and she found it strangely soothing. He didn't move, save for the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. Insecurity was still evident in his features, but she never looked away from him.

Not even when she proceeded to slowly reach out until her hand just hovered over his bionic arm. This time, it was she who was hesitating, not sure if she was ready to commit to the next step. She wasn't given a choice, however, when Bucky leaned his arm forward into her palm. Kim couldn't help the small gasp that passed through her lips, finally breaking eye contact to see where her hand now laid. But after the initial shock wore off, she was secretly pleased at the way he'd taken the initiative. The metal against her trembling fingers was familiarly cool, though not nearly as scary as she remembered. In fact, she marveled at all the intricate grooves running from his fingers to his shoulder, which clearly provided the limb with fluidity and a shape nearly identical to his right arm.

"Whoa," she breathed, "it's really part of you."

"Yes."

"C-can you feel that?"

"Not the way you can."

She continued her up-close inspection of the bionic appendage. Fingers splayed across the smooth metal as she carefully ran her hand from his elbow to his wrist, taking in as many details as she could, from the life-like taper of his fingers, to the red star on his shoulder. She wanted to memorize everything. It really was a remarkable piece, which attested to Zola's genius, despite how much of a bastard he was in Kim's mind. What kind of metal was it made of? How strong was it? How much maintenance did it require? Could it be damaged? What kind of damage could it inflict? She thought of Steve; how much had it hurt to be punched by something like that? All these questions went unasked, but she didn't feel a need to voice them. She was just glad to get this far with physical contact.

With a sigh, she met his eyes again and gave a small smile. "That can be a start," she said, removing her hand from his arm.

But before she completely pulled away, Bucky's right hand shot out and grabbed her wrist in mid-air. A startled gasp caught in Kim's throat, but she didn't struggle against his solid hold. The strong, calloused fingers surrounding her wrist were firm, but not threatening, and she forced herself to relax in his grasp.

You won't hurt me, she thought to him. She still believed that.

He stared at her for a while, his grip never faltering. She let him hold on to her, wanting him to feel at ease making this kind of contact on his own terms. If this was all he could bring himself to do for now, then so be it.

It's okay, Bucky. It's oka—

"How close, Kim?"

Her brow furrowed. "What?

Patiently, he turned her arm over until her wrist was exposed, which donned one of the scars from her suicide attempt.

Kim felt her stomach sink. Oh damn…

"How close did you come?"

 _How close did you come to dying?_ He didn't have to finish in order for her to understand the point of his question, and the burn of shame filled her once again. "Pretty close," she whispered.

He went silent as he looked at her. If it were anyone else, she might have jerked away from his grasp, but she didn't seem to have the strength to pull away, nor did she really _want_ to. Not from him, not in this moment. But it wasn't just Bucky's hold that had such a paralyzing effect on her: it was also the look in his eyes. There wasn't evidence of anger or disappointment, or even resentment as she'd anticipated. Instead, it was a look of…of…complete and utter _distress_. That alone prompted tears to blur her vision.

Ever-so-subtly, he shook his head as he glanced down at her wrist. "I can't…help but wonder…" he rasped.

She was listening intently. "What?"

When he ran his thumb over the raised mark, Kim sucked in a sharp breath. "If…I'd been there for you," he stammered, and she swore she saw his chin begin to quiver, "would this have happened?"

Oh…God…She felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. How could she answer that? What would have happened had he been in her life when Scotty died? When Mom and Dad died? Would anything have been different?

No…yes? Maybe…God, I don't know…

Then he looked her straight in the eye, and while his face was dead serious, it was also the most pleading look anyone had ever given her. "Kim," he harshly whispered, stroking his thumb over the scar a second time. " _Never again_."

There it was. The same concern and distress that she'd seen in his gaze was clearly evident in his voice. Closing her eyes, she slowly shook her head. No, Bucky, she solemnly promised, and she meant it with all of her heart. Never again. "I…" She started to say, but the words died on her tongue.

"What?"

She took a breath, released it, mentally ran though several versions of what she'd silently conveyed to him when she believed him to be nothing more than a guiding spirit in her life. Unfortunately, nothing sounded adequate in her mind. Shoulders sagging in defeat, she opened her eyes and all she could think of to tell him was, "I'm sorry."

He cocked his head, his hand tightening around her wrist as gently as he could manage. A _comforting_ gesture. "You're alive. That's all that matters."

Her lips parted as she drew in a quiet breath, his proclamation as moving as it was heartbreaking, and she knew she'd remember those words for as long as she lived. This man barely knew her, yet had found ways to express how much she already meant to him…

Bucky was still holding onto her wrist, his thumb still covering her scar, and she allowed him to maintain the contact. She sighed. As much as she wanted to discuss the details of what had taken place that night, wanted to tell him what had been going through her head when she made that decision…she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet, anyway. There was too much going on tonight, and she wasn't ready to open up about that. He wasn't pressing her for information, though. Somehow, they both knew this was not an appropriate time for that subject. For this, she was grateful, and hoped he could sense the gratitude shimmering behind her eyes.

"Are you going to leave?" She asked softly.

He released her wrist from his grasp, and Kim's skin tingled from the loss of his warm touch. "Do you want me to go?"

"No," she answered. "Please stay." He did just that, regarding her with a pensive gaze. There was nothing intimidating about him; he was just focused solely on her. He was staying, and for that, she was relieved. "Umm, are you hungry at all?"

He drew a deep breath. " _Yes_."

Whoa. How long had it been since he last ate? "Okay. Well…I can feed you. Come on inside."

His expression became wary, and as he visibly tensed, he actually took a step back.

Her brows knit with worry, fearing he might leave after all. "What is it?"

"I—" His hands clenched into fists again, and he looked past her to scan the exterior of the house. "Rebecca."

She gave him an incredulous look. "You remember her?"

"Yes."

Oh, wow. Considering how many times HYDRA had wiped his memory... "How?"

"I see her when I look at you," he turned his gaze back to her to emphasize his point. "You have her eyes."

Her stomach did a flip, and she felt herself mouth the word "oh," but wasn't sure if she'd said it out loud. Amazing. A physical trait she'd acquired from her grandmother had sparked some sort of memory in his scattered brain. She never would have guessed she could have that kind of power. The idea gave her a renewed sense of hope. "Do you want to see her?"

A panicked look crossed his features, which she immediately recognized.

"Hey," she stepped forward, lightly placing a hand on his bionic shoulder. He instantly froze at her touch, but he didn't retaliate in any way. "Hey, forget I asked. We don't have to do anything you're not ready to do, okay?"

He glanced at the hand on his shoulder, then back at her.

Maybe he was going to be okay with her doing that. "Just…come inside so we can talk for a bit. That's all."

He hesitated, throwing another look at the old house.

"Don't worry," she soothed. "Grandma's bedroom is upstairs, and she's sleeping. She won't even know you're here. Trust me."

His nostrils flared as he breathed. "Does she know?"

There was no mistaking the fear in his voice. Wordlessly, she shook her head.

He looked at her, and she could detect the appreciation hidden deep within his eyes. Thank you, he was saying to her.

She gave a fleeting smile as she removed her hand from his shoulder. "Come on. I'll show you inside."

Together, they walked across the grassy expanse of the backyard as they returned to the house. All the while, Bucky threw protective glances all around them, searching the darkness for any potential threats to his niece's well-being. Kim knew there were no immediate dangers in the vicinity, but his protective stance toward her made her feel more at ease than she could have ever anticipated. The Winter Soldier might be one of HYDRA's deadliest assets, but here with her, he was a man fiercely defending his family. She was glad to finally have her great-uncle by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Family is a haven in a heartless world." Christopher Lasch


	5. Dinner Talk

Kim started to apologize for the sub-par meal she'd prepared, but the moment Bucky started inhaling the food, she'd clamped her mouth shut. The man was clearly ravenous, and anything she gave him probably would have tasted like filet mignon at this point. She only wished she'd thought to feed him sooner.

Hell, if only he'd _mentioned_ that he was hungry sooner.

In the dining room that had become a refuge of sorts for the past week, Kim sat next to Bucky at the table and paced herself through her container of leftover tabbouleh. Thankfully, her appetite had returned. The two ate in relative silence, but it wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable silence for Kim. Sure, she used to picture times when she and her uncle would have long, involved conversations around the dinner table, getting a chance to know one another one basis as they discussed the goings-on in each others' lives. This present situation, however, went against everything she'd once imagined. Heck, everything about _him_ went against everything she'd once imagined.

But truth be told, it didn't bother her. No, not in the slightest. It was just…different, but that made sense. _He_ was different. Bucky had been through a lot since World War II, and he wasn't the same man she once envisioned him to be. However, it didn't change the fact that he was still her uncle; that they shared common blood; that he was here with her now. With all that had occurred in the past week alone, something as simple as quiet time with Bucky was a welcome relief.

And considering what he'd had to come to grips with over the past couple of months, she was sure he appreciated not being pressured into speaking at great length.

While he ate, Kim stole glances at him as he took in what must have been strange surroundings in his mind. The wallpaper. The furniture. The picture frames on far end-tables and shelves. The knick-knacks displayed in the nearby China cabinet. He didn't seem agitated, just extremely observant. No doubt he was thinking about the fact that this was Rebecca's house, and everything he was seeing was a direct representation of her. And of her family. _Their_ family. Kim frowned. If Bucky being alive was a lot for _her_ to take in initially, she couldn't fathom how difficult it was for _him_ to come to grips with all the memories and people he'd forgotten in life.

How would she react if placed in a similar situation?

"What are you thinking?"

Her attention snapped back to him when he broke the silence, and she realized that his plate was now empty. How long had she been staring off into space?

His gaze was intent on her, and for the second time that night, Kim noted that Bucky's eyes were greyish-blue. The color of wisdom. She liked them. She also realized he didn't even need to ask to know that she was lost in thought, and knew he might be more perceptive than others probably thought. In the back of her mind, she somehow knew she wouldn't be able to keep secrets from him for long, but it didn't occur to her to be bothered by the notion.

Grey-blue eyes. Wisdom. They suited him. Yeah, you're smarter than even _you_ realize, Bucky. Slowly, she shook her head. "Your hair has gotten so long," she said at last.

Bucky blinked a few times, apparently caught off-guard by her verbal observation.

Kim excused herself for a moment, going out to the hallway leading to the stairs. When she returned, she placed a framed picture on the table in front of him. It was a photograph of Bucky from 1942, donning his army uniform and giving a small but dignified smile. He stared at it, saying nothing.

"This photo of you has been in the hallway for as long as I can remember," Kim said. "It's how I've always pictured you in my mind. See how short your hair was back then?"

He still said nothing. All he did was stare long and hard at the image of his former self.

Kim didn't push for him to verbalize his thoughts. "I talk to this picture sometimes."

That prompted him to finally look at her, his head tilting in that curious manner.

She smiled inwardly. "There were days when I would spend hours staring at it and talking to you, pretending you were actually here. I know it sounds stupid, but I would talk to you about anything. Mom and Dad thought it was just a cute game I was playing, but there was more to it than that." A pause. "I thought Grandma might make me stop doing it when I got older, but she didn't. She liked that I was making some sort of connection with you, and let me do it anytime I needed to. One of the last times I 'talked' to you was a few weeks ago." She sighed quietly. "But weirdly enough, I'm not sure what to say now that you really _are_ here."

The atmosphere became silent between them again for a time.

"What would you talk about?"

Kim drew up a little, as she hadn't expected him to take the initiative and speak up first. "You mean with your picture?"

"Yes."

She chose to be straightforward with her answer. "Things that were difficult to talk about."

"Like what?"

Releasing another soft sigh, she breathed out one word. "Scotty."

"Your brother." There was another minute of silence before he asked, "Why was it hard for you to talk about him?"

She gave a half-shrug. "I wasn't comfortable talking about his death. There are times when I'm still not, honestly. People have said to me over and over again that it's best to talk about someone's death face-to-face so that you don't bottle everything up. But I've tried doing that several times, and it doesn't help me. I feel like it makes things worse. It's like ripping open a really painful scar…" She glanced down at the mark on her right wrist, "…and no matter how much time goes by, the pain doesn't stop. Even when I was younger, I knew I needed to deal with it my own way." It was impossible to ignore the underlying sense of loss clawing cruelly at her heart, something that had never truly left her since Scotty's death. The feeling had intensified following her parents' deaths, and intensified again when her grandmother received her latest prognosis…

"How did he die?"

She gave her head a shake to clear her thoughts. "He drowned; he was only seven."

"You miss him," he observed.

She nodded. "More than I thought I would. You would have gotten a kick out of him…" Her words faded, mainly because she wasn't sure what else to say. However, she also realized this was the most she'd talked to anyone about Scotty in a long time.

"I'd like to hear more about him," Bucky stated evenly.

She looked at him. Something in the way he'd just said that, the subliminal meaning behind those words: _I'd like to hear more about him…but some other time._ Was he possibly protecting her from going into detail about Scotty? Protecting her heart from the further pain it would cause? She couldn't be sure, but regardless of what might be his true intent, she found herself feeling grateful. "You will," she promised.

"Do you do that when you're upset?"

"Do what?"

He gestured toward her with a nod of his head. "Bite your lip like that."

"What?" She touched her fingertips to her lip, feeling the acute soreness on the left side where she'd been chewing on it. "Oh, didn't even realize," she muttered almost to herself. It had become a bad habit over the past few years, one she'd developed right after Scotty died.

Bucky hesitated before offering, "Rebecca used do that…"

Her eyes widened at this revelation. "She did?"

"Yes."

"How do…?" She stupidly started to ask.

"It just…came to me while…while I was watching you."

Another memory. Another one summoned by her. But… "She never told me about that."

He frowned. "She didn't?"

She shook her head, giving a dry laugh. "She always gets on _my_ case for doing it. Keeps telling me it isn't a ladylike thing to do, and that I'll end up permanently scarring my lips." She ran a finger over her lip again, then found herself wishing she could ask her grandmother if she really did used to do that, just to confirm it.

But you can't get answers from her anymore, her mind whispered sadly.

She forced the thought aside. "What else do you remember about her?"

"I…" His brow furrowed deeply, as if he was searching the far reaches of his mind for something. Anything. But eventually, he released a defeated sigh. "Nothing. There's nothing."

Kim gave him a sympathetic look. "It's okay."

He huffed out a breath. "The things I see…it's like they...they're just…flashes of memory that I don't understand. They happen so fast, and I'm not sure if…I really don't know what's real and what's not."

She wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch his arm, to prove that _she_ was real, but refrained from doing so. "She told me so many stories about you when I was growing up. Grandma was always going on about what a confident little kid you were, and how fearless you became as you got older, and the tales you told from the war, the way you used to protect her and Steve without thinking twice. All sorts of things. I think talking about you kept you alive in her mind. She loved you, Bucky."

The look that overcame his features—a combination of uncertainty and sorrow—was enough to break Kim's heart. She pursed her lips, but went on. "I'm not the only one who made you remember something. Steve did, too, didn't he?"

Ever so slowly, he averted his gaze, and though he sat mere inches to her left, Kim suddenly felt as though he'd drifted far away. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she detected the tell-tale shimmer of tears in his eyes.

"He was my mission," he whispered hoarsely, and she listened. "I knew him, but he was my mission. He tried to tell me and…he just kept letting me hit him…"

"He wouldn't fight back," Kim said just as quietly.

He didn't look at her, but slowly shook his head to confirm her statement.

"What did he say to make you remember?"

It took a few attempts of moving his mouth before he found his voice. "That h-he's with me…"

"'Till the end of the line," she finished for him, referring to her earlier conversation with Steve.

A shuddering breath passed through his parted lips, his hands tightening into fists on either side of the framed picture before him, a pained, almost tormented expression crossing his face as a couple tears streamed down his cheeks.

This time, she felt herself bite down on her lip. He obviously needed some space, so Kim rose from her chair to—

She gasped when his right hand shot out and grabbed her arm for the second time that night. Frozen in place, she waited while he held her there, not struggling against the firm grasp on her limb. Neither moved, neither spoke. She simply stared at her uncle while he coped with whatever was currently running through his troubled mind.

"Don't go," his voice was suddenly quite strained.

She blinked. "You sure?"

His fingers tightened around her arm, causing her to clench her teeth. It didn't hurt, but the intense pressure was a mere demonstration of how strong he was.

"Don't go," he repeated, "please stay."

She was taken aback by how he sounded just then, almost…imploring. Like a timid child making a request.

"You and Steve," he murmured, "are the only ones who've made me remember _anything_. Steve made me remember something about myself, and you…you make me remember things about my family." His brow furrowed in thought. "Family must have been important to Barnes…because I can feel how important you are when you're near." He finally locked eyes with her. "Stay and talk with me. Please."

She felt her face soften. Unable to deny his desperate plea, she slowly sank back down into her chair. "Okay."

When he was convinced she was going to stay, he visibly relaxed and carefully released her arm. The faint red marks from his fingers gradually faded from her skin.

She rubbed her arm in a soothing manner. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything," he replied. "I just want to hear you talk."

Pleasant warmth filled her chest. No matter how mundane her conversation might be, he wanted to hear what she had to say simply because she mattered to him. It was a trait comparable to Steve, and she found that very comforting. "That day at the museum: was that the first time you ever saw me?"

"Yes."

"You really didn't know about me before then?"

"No. I wouldn't have known if I didn't hear you talking to the boy."

Thank God I was with Sammy that day, she thought. "Must have been a hell of a shock to find out the truth about yourself."

He lowered his eyes. "It was more of a shock when I found you."

She didn't doubt that. "I'm actually surprised you talked to me that day."

"I almost didn't, but I had to," his voice shook. "When I realized who you were, I couldn't…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing.

She leaned a little closer toward him. "What?"

He released a sigh, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "I couldn't lose you."

Beneath the table, her fingers tightened on one knee. When she was five-years-old, her father had said the exact same thing when he'd lost track of her at the mall one day. Only those who loved and cared for her deeply would make such proclamations. Did that mean that he already…? "It's been over three months, Bucky. Where have you been all this time?"

He simply said, "Not far."

Her ears perked at that. "How'd you find me?"

"Your shirt had a web link printed on it."

Her _Iron Wings_ shirt. Of course. HYDRA probably trained him to utilize multiple resources—including the Internet—in order to gather information on their enemies, so he used similar tactics to find her.

"I saw you leave the Candleman Center last month," he said.

Her eyes went rather wide. That was her therapy center in downtown D.C. "You were there?"

"Yes. I kept my distance, but I saw you. I followed you…" His face hardened. " _Anyone_ could have found you, Kim, and I had to make sure I found you first."

Her stomach sank. He was right: anyone could have found her. It didn't matter how cautious she was about disclosing personal information in her blog. The addresses for all the _Iron Wings_ facilities were listed on the organization's website, and if someone knew she lived near D.C., it wouldn't take long figure out where she was. Anyone could track her down if they really wanted to. That was a chilling thought. "I didn't think about that," she admitted.

"I did, so I had to make sure nothing happened to you. Consequences be damned, I will protect you in any way I can," his tone was absolute.

She gazed at him without speaking, letting his statement really sink in. Then she pulled something from her back pocket and slid it over to him. "You should have this back."

He hesitated as he stared at the item, recognizing the folded, wrinkled envelope immediately, looking at her uncertainly. "But that's your letter," he pulled his hand back a little.

She pushed it even closer to him. "I wrote it to _you_ ; it belongs to you. And after what you just said about protecting me, I want you to have it, Bucky. No arguements."

Slowly, the uncertainty in his face melted away, morphing into something akin to immense appreciation. Uncurling the fingers of his right hand, he reached out to cover the envelope and pull it towards him, almost as though he was keeping it guarded. "Thank you," he whispered.

She felt herself relax a bit more beside him.

Then it was he who changed the subject. "What did you call that food you gave me?"

"Hot Pockets."

"They were good."

She half-smiled. "I kind of figured you liked them: you plowed through four of them in less than seven minutes."

He gave her a very confused look. "Was that wrong?"

She couldn't help it: despite the somber tone that had permeated the past few days, she finally burst out laughing. "No, it's fine! I was just impressed, is all."

His gaze was fixated on her, head tilting again. "You look different when you smile," he said.

It was her turn to tilt her head in curiosity. "How so?"

"I don't know, it just…" He seemed to be having trouble coming up with what to say, but Kim waited, giving him a chance to say what was on his mind. After a moment, he settled on, "You…look happy. It's good to see."

No matter how simple his explanations might be, the meanings behind them struck Kim's heart so strongly that she couldn't help but smile wider in response. "Having you here gives me something to be happy about."

Though he didn't reply, he kept his eyes locked with hers—and for a second, she thought she detected the barest hint of…a smile? Was it possible? But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, his expression returning to the stoic mask she'd become accustomed to so far. Still, she clung to the idea that what she'd seen had not been an illusion.

"Here, let me get these out of the way," she rose from her chair and began stacking their dishes together. "Oh, hey, I never asked if you wanted anything to drink besides water," she picked up his glass. "You still thirsty? You want some milk or something?"

It didn't bother her that he suddenly went silent again; what unnerved her was the dark expression that suddenly overtook his features.

Her smile faded. "Bucky?"

No answer. He turned away, the rise and fall of his shoulders indicating that his breathing was becoming labored. His hands flexed and tightened on the table's surface, resulting in a harsh grating sound as his bionic fingertips dug slowly into the wood.

Her pulse quickened. Something was wrong. "Bucky?"

Eyes snapping shut, his muscles went rigid as his head jerked once—twice—and he released a strained groan through gritted teeth as his fist slammed down on the table with a loud _bang!_

Startled, Kim jumped back, a cry catching in her throat. What was happening? Just a minute ago, he seemed fine…

He pounded his bionic fist on the table again, making the dishes rattle from the impact. All she could do was gawk at him. This scared her; she wouldn't deny that. Not understanding what was going on scared her even more.

Bucky, what's wrong with you?

In the back of her mind, Steve's insistent plea haunted her: _I think you need to exercise extreme caution when it comes to him…you know how dangerous he is to anyone he perceives as a threat…_

He struck the table yet again, and this time, Kim snapped out of her frightened trance, knowing she had to do something. "Hey…hey, stop!" Without really thinking, Kim lunged forward and grabbed his right arm. " _Bucky._ "

His eyes snapped to her, and she gasped at the wild, animalistic expression set deeply within them. The eyes of a complete stranger. For an instant, she half-expected him to lash out in retaliation, even braced herself for the inevitable blow from the former HYDRA agent…

But it never came. As soon as he recognized her—and it was almost instantaneous—that look in his eyes was gone. Vanished. Once again the wise grey-blue eyes she'd already come to admire, but now filled with shock and confusion. He looked at her. Truly _looked_ at her, looked _into_ her. Just as he had that first night. All the while, her hand still held onto him, her gaze never breaking from his as she willed her breathing to return to normal.

_I think you need to exercise extreme caution…_

No. I'm not a threat to you, she mutely conveyed to him. You know that, Bucky. Come on, pull yourself together. Pull yourself together…

A few shaky Russian words passed his lips, then he tore his eyes away and abruptly stood, walking away from the table and disappearing into the adjoining living room.

Kim watched him go, not objecting to his departure after the episode that had just taken place. Glancing at the table, she drew in a breath as she saw the rough dent that had been left behind by his metal hand. That was not going to be an easy one to explain to Jen or Aunt Laura. She glanced once more in the direction he'd gone, then sighed as she began clearing the dishes from the table.

* * *

The ding of the microwave sounded, announcing that her tea was done. Kim carefully clutched the hot mug in her hands, blowing across the liquid's surface before taking her first sip. The aroma and flavor of chamomile filled her senses as it slid down her throat. Minutes later, she could feel its soothing effects beginning to take hold, and she exhaled appreciatively.

From the living room, she heard the chimes of the old clock on the mantelpiece, indicating that it was a quarter after ten. Feeling more relaxed, Kim turned and made her way towards the archway leading to the living room. She took her time, passing by the dining room table, which was now covered by one of Rebecca's larger tablecloths. It would hide the damaged spot for the time being.

No lights were on in the living room, but there was enough of it spilling from the dining room to illuminate the area, and her eyes immediately spotted Bucky standing at the far end. He was gazing intently out one of the windows, bracing himself against the frame with one hand, his long hair forming a curtain across his profile.

He didn't react when Kim flicked a on a nearby lamp. Quietly, she came further into the room, never taking her eyes off him, but keeping her distance as she moved to sit in the large green chair she'd designated as "hers" a long time ago. His back remained to her, but by the way he angled his head, she knew he was listening to every sound she made. She didn't speak; just sat there and slowly sipped her tea. At the very least, she hoped her presence would be reassuring.

She let her thoughts drift back to what had taken place in the dining room. It wasn't just Bucky's troubling behavior that she focused on. It was also the fact that he'd gotten her to laugh. Even if he hadn't meant to, he'd made her genuinely laugh. Plus, he'd given her the first glimpse of what a smile might look like from him. That light-hearted moment held such promise for the two of them, and she needed to believe it could potentially be a repeat event.

It had to be a memory, she thought. What else could have triggered a reaction like that? HYDRA put him through all that torment to wipe his mind, and spells like that are probably going to be side effects. It might be something that happens a lot, and you need to be ready for it.

She took another slow sip of her tea, remembering that this was a man who had been horribly broken by his true enemies. One evening in her presence was not going to magically cure him, or turn him back into the person once was. As much as she wanted to believe she could help him, she had to be realistic about the situation.

Just remember to give him his space when it hits him, she instructed herself. The last thing you need is to do is push him beyond his limits. He might actually hurt you if you try—

"I'm sorry."

Her eyes flicked over to Bucky, whose back was still turned to her. She didn't respond.

Apparently, she didn't need to. "For earlier; I'm sorry."

She kept her gaze fixed on him, memorizing every detail of her uncle standing there, flanked on either side by the sheer white curtains framing the window.

"I didn't want you to see that," he faintly whispered.

The guilt in his voice jarred her heart, but she still kept quiet.

Taking a deep breath, he went on to explain himself. "There are faces in my head. So many faces…that I don't know. They come to me, whether I want them to or not. I see them, but they're just…glimpses. Then they disappear, and are replaced by even _more_ strange faces. They…they're afraid, and I don't know why…"

He slowly shook his head. "But only one of those faces is constant, and I see it over and over again…" He lowered his eyes from the glass. " _Pierce._ "

Kim drew in a quiet breath. She recalled the name not only from her research, but also from Steve's account of the battle in D.C. Pierce. _Alexander_ Pierce. HYDRA's leader., and the man responsible for Project INSIGHT, which would have eliminated the lives of hundreds of thousands of people if Steve hadn't intervened. Damn. Kim's fingers tightened around the rim of her mug. She wanted him to keep talking, to get this out of his mind.

"He…he offered me milk…" One hand tightened into a fist at his side.

So that's what set him off, she thought: I asked if he wanted milk. Amazing how something so trivial could be such a significant trigger. One to cause him to remember someone like Alexander Pierce, no less.

He released a shuddering breath, bringing his other hand up to brace himself against the window frame. "It's not just his face and name that I remember. When I see him…I remember _pain_ ," his eyes squeezed shut, shoulders tensing. "There's _pain_ every time his face comes to mind, but I can't understand why…" The strain in his voice was clear as he clenched his teeth together.

Kim could sense him descending into that chasm of despair yet again, and felt herself sit up tall in her chair. " _Sergeant_ ," she called out calmly but firmly.

He sucked in a breath, his spine straightening at her voice.

Somehow, that had gotten through, and when he said nothing further, she knew she had his attention. Something in his stance told her he was relieved to finally hear her. Good.

In an even softer tone, she said, "Pierce is dead. They found his body at SHIELD headquarters after the Helicarriers crashed; he was shot through the heart."

He lifted his head to stare out the window again. "You know this?"

She watched him for a moment longer. Before she knew it, she'd placed her mug on the coffee table and came over to him, placing a hand on his right arm. He looked at her then, his eyes completely focused on hers. "He's gone," she repeated. "He can't hurt you anymore."

He was staring at her hand on his arm, and there appeared to be a degree of fascination in his face. "So different," he whispered. "It's so different…"

"What is?"

"This," he said, still looking at her hand. "I've known nothing but pain for so long, but…" He lifted his eyes to meet hers again. "It's different with you, Kim. I remember things since my last mission…and since I first saw you, everything about you has been _kind_. Your words; the way you look at me; your touch; all of it has been the kindest I can possibly remember."

Kim closed her eyes against the burning in her heart. "I wouldn't hurt you, Bucky."

"I know," he sounded sincere.

Opening her eyes, she said, "Just like I know you won't hurt me."

His face changed then, though it was not nearly as drastic as the moments leading up to his spell. This time, it appeared as more of a shift in mood, a very pensive look coming to his eyes. "How many have I killed?"

She blinked at the change in subject. "What?"

"How many have I killed, Kim?"

Erased memories, she reminded herself, removing her hand and crossing her arms. Pieces were going to resurface from time to time, and she felt an overwhelming ache on his behalf. "Bucky, is it really necessary to—"

"Kim," he cut her off with a wave of his metal arm, turning to face her fully. "Please. I wouldn't hurt you, no, but I've obviously been capable of it before. Every time I close my eyes, those faces haunt me. They look at me in fear, and I know it's because I've done something terrible to them. I don't remember how many have died because of me, and I don't know why HYDRA wanted them dead, but as much as we both want to deny it, the Winter Soldier is _me_." He took a step towards her, but she didn't back away. "I know you've done a great deal of research on the Winter Soldier these past few days, which makes you the only link I have to my past. It's nothing but a chaotic mess in my head, and I need to find answers as to what I've done." His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, and she almost faltered when he gave her what could arguably be one of the saddest looks she'd ever seen. "I'm asking you— _please, Kim_ —help me understand what I've become." His lip trembled, but he asked again, "How many have died?"

She swallowed hard, but found the strength to answer. "Over twenty assassinations that I know of. Maybe more, I don't know, but at least twenty major names."

Oh God, the tormented look that crossed his face when he heard that…Her heart broke all over again.

Still, he managed to ask coherent follow-up questions. "You've seen proof of this?"

She nodded.

"You have it?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He angled his head down, keeping his eyes locked with hers. "Show me."

She was quiet for a moment, glancing at the metal of his left arm. "Before I got these files, I was warned that I wasn't going to like what I saw. That turned out to be more than an accurate assumption." She exhaled gently. "But as awful as it was, I'm glad I got to see them."

"Why?"

"Because it gave me a better understanding of what happened to you. You won't like it, either, but this should at least begin to answer some of the questions you have." Then she lifted her chin to look up at him. "Just promise me one thing: you won't use what you're about to see as an excuse to run away." She hesitated before adding, "I don't think I can handle you disappearing on me again."

He tilted his head, those steely eyes of his softening just a degree. "You're my mission now, Kim. Leaving you is not an option."

Something about the way he said that caused her breath to catch in her throat, for she knew he meant every single word. God, how she wished she _could_ hug him…Even though there was the faintest prick of heartfelt tears behind her eyes, she managed to keep her expression carefully controlled as she led him back to the dining room.

It took mere minutes to power up her laptop once again. Bucky hovered over Kim's shoulder while she showed him how to access the files she'd saved to her flash drive, which contained both her online research, and the classified documents Stark had sent. Most importantly, she pointed out the separate folder containing exclusive information about the Winter Soldier, which captured his immediate attention.

No surprise there. "Nothing more complicated than that," she said. "If I happen to get any more of HYDRA's confidential files, I'll tell you, but that's everything I have for now. Think you can take it from here?"

His eyebrows twitched together, then he gave a short nod.

"Alright," she vacated the chair at last, "I'll leave you to it, then. Oh, and um, just be sure to use your right hand, okay?"

But he didn't move to sit down. Angling his head, he said, "You like to jog."

She was somewhat taken aback by his sudden observation, trying to determine if that was a question or a statement. "Yeah."

"What does it do for you?'

She cocked her head at his inquiry. Not an inquiry about HYDRA, or the Winter Soldier, but an inquiry about _her_. She wasn't sure why he was asking, but didn't want to discourage him from asking about topics unrelated to HYDRA. Hopefully, they could build on that later. "It's good stress relief. God only knows that with everything going on, I need to get rid of it once in a while."

He nodded subtlety. "Promise me you'll go for a jog tomorrow."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

He lifted his eyes to hers. "It seems to be one of the few things that makes you happy; I don't want you to lose that. Please, promise me you'll do that tomorrow. For yourself."

As those words sunk in, the edges of her vision began to blur from unshed tears. Blinking them back, she cleared her throat. "Okay."

" _Promise_ me," he stressed.

"I promise." And she meant it.

His eyes shone as he looked at her. _"_ _Spa_ _seeba_ _,"_ he said warmly, then swiftly sat down to begin his research.

Kim didn't know the Russian phrase, but based on the way he'd looked at her, she felt she understood its meaning.

Without another word, she left him to his research, returning to the living to sit in her green chair. In her hands was the framed picture of Bucky she'd taken from the table. Gazing at it, she thought about everything that had taken place over the past few days. Grandma's health; Steve's concerns about her safety; Stark's assistance with her questions…

Bucky's presence. She released a deep sigh. The man she'd always wanted to be in her life was finally part of it. Though his experiences had changed him in many ways, she knew she had the ability to help break through the chaos in his mind. He was here, and that was where he belonged. She conceded that they had a long way to go, but at least now they could rely one another, and just as he was protective of her, she was going to be protective of him in return.

You're in my world now, Bucky, and you're in it forever.

Occasionally, she heard the tapping of computer keys, but he was otherwise silent in the next room. Kim didn't mind; he needed this time to himself.

Resting her chin in one hand, she listened quietly as she stared at the black-and-white photo, her eyes memorizing every detail of James Buchanan Barnes' face all over again. When she was young, she'd always wondered what color those eyes were. Now she knew.

At one point, she became aware of the clock sounding off eleven chimes…

* * *

"Hey, chicky. Hey," a hand shook her shoulder. "You need to get up."

Drawing in a deep breath through her nose, Kim's eyes flew open, only to squeeze shut again as a strong light hit them.

"Mmph," she groaned, rubbing a hand over her face.

There was a gentle laugh. "I know," Jen soothed, "but I think you've slept in long enough."

Jen? Peeling her heavy eyes open, Kim squinted against the daylight pouring in through the windows. Morning. She knew Bucky was probably long gone by now. "What time is it?" She asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Just after ten. I only got here about ten minutes ago; it's unlike you to sleep this late, isn't it?" She asked absently, hoisting a basket of linens in her arms. "You should get up before the day is a total waste, though."

She was right. Besides, she needed to bid her grandmother a good morning. She began to stretch beneath her blanket, but then froze when a realization dawned on her.

"I swear, you're like a cat," Jen said, not noticing her pause, "you can sleep just about anywhere, can't you?" Her cheery voice faded as she exited the room.

Kim sat in silence, her waking mind sharpening with each passing second. The blanket. It was the one typically draped over the back of the sofa. She hadn't gone to sleep with this on. Who…?

Bucky, she answered her own question. Bucky had covered her with it while she slept. Anyone else might not consider it a big deal, but for her, it held a great amount of significance.

It was a sign of _caring_ on his part.

She felt her heart clench gently at the notion. Lifting the blanket, it came as no surprise when she saw that her other arm still clutched Bucky's picture to her chest. Part of her worried about his state of mind after last night, since she wasn't sure how much he'd delved into the details of his past. Perhaps the trauma of the truth would cause him to keep his distance for a time, and she could only hope that she'd see him again soon.

But she remembered what he'd said about the impossibility of leaving her. He'd been completely honest when he spoke those words.

She lifted the picture to look at his proud face again. She'd kept it close all night. In a way, he hadn't gone far from her at all.

Remembering the promise she'd made several hours ago, Kim rose from the chair and headed for her bedroom. It was a nice day outside, and it was time to get ready for a jog.


	6. Siblings

Jen had left sometime later that evening, which gave Kim a chance to spend quality with her grandmother. Sunday nights had been designated as movie night for them, the only day of the week when they took a break from dancing and simply spent time together. It used to be a tradition with her family, and Rebecca intended to keep that alive for her.

In her grandmother's room, _Return of the Jedi_ was playing on the small television screen atop the far dresser. It was by far Kim's favorite of all the _Star Wars_ movies, and she could recite every line from the film verbatim. Not only was she a sucker for classic tales of good versus evil, but she'd also harbored a small crush on Luke Skywalker ever since she was a little girl. Scotty used to tease her about that all the time, though she didn't really mind being called a Jedi-lover. Rebecca often complained about how frequently she watched the film, and, just to playfully spite her, Kim would pick this as the movie she wanted to watch on most weekends. But no matter how many times Rebecca would roll her eyes in exasperation, she always ended up giving in with a smile.

The movie, however, was not holding her immediate attention. Instead, she was working diligently to update her blog, fingers flying over the keys of her laptop as she typed out her sentences. The jog earlier in the day had done her mind and body a great deal of good, and she was actually eager to report on her ever-improving running skills. It was true: she felt like her muscles were getting stronger and stronger the more she worked with this prosthetic, and she could imagine the possibilities that such artificial appendages could hold for others. Stark would no doubt be pleased to see this update from her, and it may even prevent him from asking any probing questions about the assistance she'd requested of him the other night.

It wasn't just her cardiovascular activities that Stark would be interested in, though. She'd also detailed the surprising discovery she'd made while stomping her foot on the ground a few nights ago: the unexpected kick-back that had resulted from her actions. Of course, she had to fib a little on the circumstances leading to the discovery, but she managed to concoct a plausible story that would satisfy her readers.

After a few minutes, she hit the pause button on the movie. "Okay, see if this sounds better to you," she said, as if holding a conversation with her grandmother.

She proceeded to read the revised version aloud to her, making sure it sounded grammatically correct to her ears before posting it online. Even if Rebecca couldn't vocalize her thoughts, Kim still kept her involved her in the tasks that were important to her.

Halfway through the entry, she paused at an awkward phrase. "Wait, that's not right," she deleted a couple words and tried again. When she re-read the sentence, it sounded much better to her ears. "That's better. ' _I seriously spent an hour in the backyard today testing out how hard I needed to stomp my foot in order for this to happen again. My results varied based on the amount of force I used: if I tap the ground with my toe, walk, or even run like I normally do, nothing happens. But the harder I stomp, the greater the amount kick-back I get. Depending I tried this several different times, and I have quite a few bruises from where I fell over to prove it.'"_ She glanced slyly at Rebecca. "See? I didn't say 'bruises on my butt' like I wanted to," she playfully stuck out her tongue.

Rebecca, of course, said nothing.

She tried to ignore the small sting she felt in her heart, and forced herself to read on. _"It's hard to say how and why this is occurring, though. I'm not sure if this is something Stark intended to have happen, which is why I want to discuss it further with him. He made no mention of it when he first fitted me for this leg. Has this always been possible? Is it just a freak accident? Is it due to the increased muscle tone in my legs? Does something like adrenaline trigger the stimulator and cause a certain reaction with this model? I don't know. I'll admit that being able to do this kind of thing is cool, but I can also see how someone could get hurt, or even potentially misuse this ability."_ One thing Stark had asked her to be was very candid in her feedback on this device, even if they were negative criticisms. It would aid him in building better prosthetics for countless others in the future, and he had to be aware of any kinks or flaws or abnormalities she happened to discover. " _Still, I can't say that it might not come in handy the next time I'm about to fall flat on my face and need a way to bounce back upright."_

She gave a small smile at her closing quip, but it quickly vanished when she was met by deafening silence. This was where she would give her overall impression of the piece her granddaughter had just written, and where she might give her pointers on how to make it better. But the surrounding quiet ensued, and it made her heart feel heavy.

Sighing slowly, she looked over at Rebecca, who was peering at her beneath heavy-hooded eyes. Kim discreetly bit her lip; she looked exhausted, and it was no wonder. Earlier in the day, her blood pressure level had dropped quite low, which Jen attributed to potential dehydration. Apparently, this was not uncommon for persons on bed-rest, but at the time, that had provided very little comfort to Kim.

_She's only going to get worse from here_ , Jen had said. Repeatedly.

I know, she mentally countered, eyes briefly squeezing shut. You tell me every damn day…

Clicking the button to post her entry, she powered down her laptop and finally set it aside, knowing that her grandmother needed rest. Reaching for the nightstand, she retrieved the moisture swabs Jen had instructed her to use that evening, and came close to Rebecca's side.

"Okay, Grandma, come on," she coaxed, bringing a swab to her lips. "One more time, then you can sleep. Come on." It took a few tries, but she managed to push it past her rigid lips. Just as Jen had showed her, she gently forced her mouth open and wiped the insides of her cheeks, being careful not to make her choke when she gave a few swipes across her tongue. It wasn't much, but at least it would provide a small degree of hydration for her.

Once she'd finished caring for her grandmother, Kim sat back and watched as Rebecca's eyes closed, and waited until the steady rise and fall of her chest indicated a state of deep sleep. Scooting her chair closer to her bedside, she un-paused the movie, but while her ears heard the dialogue from the movie, her attention remained on the elder woman's face. With everything her body had gone through, she looked as though she'd aged a great deal within a week's time. The thought greatly saddened Kim, who reached out to cover Rebecca's left hand with hers. She knew she wouldn't be able to feel it.

" _That face you make,"_ Yoda announced from the television. _"Look I so old to young eyes?"_

Yes. You do, she thought to her grandmother.

Stroking a thumb over the back of her bony hand, she thought back on brighter times. Less than six months ago, Rebecca had joined her on after-dinner walks down Maynard Street; would curse out loud while reading a newspaper article about a politician who greatly angered her; would laugh when Kim insisted every year that the only thing she needed for Christmas was a plate of homemade holiday cookies; debated with Kim about issues they constantly disagreed on, such as gay marriage and birth control.

Then other images came to mind, not nearly as bright, but significant nonetheless. Over four years ago, Rebecca had stared long and hard at Kim in the hospital following her suicide attempt, the disappointment in her eyes forever etched into Kim's memory.

The long, serious discussions they had about the potential Kim still held for the world, even after losing her leg. She had, after all, survived that crash for a reason.

The moments when they would clash heads—mainly over communication issues—and the compromises they made in order to overcome those problems.

The endless encouragement she received from Rebecca, no matter how rough the physical therapy sessions were on her body.

The pride in her eyes whenever Kim left to volunteer with the _Iron Wings_ group.

A sudden sense of dread jolted through her: only last week, she'd been able to _talk_ to her…

" _Master Yoda, you can't die."_

" _Strong am I with the Force, but not that strong. Twilight is upon me, and soon, night must fall. That is the way of things…"_

Kim's vision began to blur with unshed tears as the inevitable, horrific truth clawed mercilessly at her chest.

Grandma's going to die, her mind echoed woefully. Grandma's going to die…

As strong as she tried to be, as much as vowed not to cry in from of her grandmother, she lay her head upon the side of the bed and just let the tears flow. It wasn't full on, gut-wrenching sobs, but she felt herself weeping weakly as she clasped her hand. It hurt to hold in the tears, took so much of her energy to do so, but as long as Rebecca was asleep, this was her chance to purge herself of the raw emotions eating away at her heart. She knew Steve would have encouraged this as well.

Feeling another sting of pain seize her chest, she rubbed her damp cheeks against the thick, white comforter. It smelled like her.

Grandma, she thought, taking a shaky breath and crying a bit harder. It just..hurts so much.

I love you. It hurts…

* * *

She only made it about halfway through the movie. Rebecca had long since fallen asleep anyway, so Kim made sure to remember to do the things needed to take care of herself, too.

First and foremost, she decided a shower was in order. In a way, the warmth of the water helped her relax a bit, and she had to admit how good it felt to wash the tears from her face. After combing through her towel-dried hair and re-attaching her prosthetic, she changed into her night clothes, which consisted of a loose shirt and yoga pants. Even though it was only going on seven o'clock, she wanted to be in something comfortable.

As she made her way downstairs, she pulled her still damp hair into a low ponytail, debating with herself about what she should possibly make for—

As she rounded the banister at the bottom of the stairs, the unexpected sight of Bucky in the hallway sent her flying backwards with a great gasp of shock. It took everything in her not to scream.

Holy _shit!_ Her mind hissed harshly, the strength in her legs giving out as she sank back to the steps with a thud. She didn't realize a hand had flown to her chest, and she could feel the rapid heartbeat pounding beneath the expanse of her palm.

"Kim?" Bucky's questioning voice sounded concerned.

Her eyes closed. Breathe. Breathe.

"Kim."

"Jesus… _Christ_ , Bucky! You nearly gave me a freaking heart attack," she managed to accuse, then opened her eyes to glare at him. He appeared incredibly uncertain as he looked at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He hesitated a moment, then replied with, "Waiting for you. The back door was unlocked."

She blinked. That was true: on the off-hand chance that he might return, Kim had left the sliding door unlocked for him. Obviously, her hunch had been right. "How long have you been here?"

"A while," he answered vaguely.

She continued to stare at him, then heaved an overwhelmed sigh. "Yeah, well…next time you come in, just make sure you yell up, or…make some noise. Or something. You can't scare the crap out of me like that, okay?"

His brows knit, making him appear conflicted with himself. "I'm sorry."

She knew he truly was, and she felt an inkling of guilt for troubling him. Shaking her head, she waved off the apology. "Don't be. You just caught me off-guard." Even as she said it, her pulse completely slowed back to normal, and the rest of her calmed as well.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"I know."

Falling quiet, the two simply remained there for a time—Kim upon the steps, Bucky standing before her—and Kim realized how much she'd been worrying about him in his short-term absence. Reaching out to him with one hand, she wasn't entirely sure how he would respond, nor did she really know what she hoped to achieve. It took a moment, but to her pleasant surprise, she felt the warmth of his right hand surround hers, and she discreetly released a breath of relief. It was the first time they'd ever held hands, and there was just something right about it. His palm was rough and calloused against her comparably smoother skin, but there was nothing unnerving about that. Soldier's hands, she thought. She recalled Steve's hands feeling very similar to his.

"You okay?" She finally asked.

Pain returned to his unfocused eyes, accompanied by that all-too-familiar sorrow that had been evident in his face since he first came to see her.

Her heart went out to him. "You don't have to say anything," she reassured. "It's a lot to take in, and I wouldn't want to talk about it, either." She tried to think of something else to say, but all she could come up with was, "I'm just glad you came back." She squeezed his hand gently.

That seemed to pull him back from his tumultuous thoughts, his eyes fixed on her once more. He wasn't just looking at her, though; it became clear to her that he was thoroughly searching her. She could feel the intensity of those grey-blue orbs analyzing every subtle nuance of her features. His lips parted as he continued to stare, though he said nothing. She felt a frown marking her eyebrows, wondering what was he possibly searching for.

"Rebecca," he suddenly whispered.

That caught her attention. Had her eyes triggered another memory? Was that why he'd been searching her face so intently? "Yeah?"

He looked so confused, but went on. "S-she doesn't like to be called Becky."

Kim's eyes widened while her stomach did an automatic flip. Then she gave a small, sad smile, shaking her head to confirm his statement. "Hates it. She thinks it sounds too much like Bucky, and says Rebecca sounds a lot more feminine." She cast her eyes downward. "She said you would tease her about that, and said you would sometimes call her your 'little brother' to get a rise out of her." She sighed. "Grandpa used to call her that, too. It was like his playful term of endearment for her."

He said nothing, but after a moment, she sensed the gradual tightening of his hand around hers. It was subtle pressure, but she could feel it. Amazing how comforting that mere gesture was for her. Looking up, she watched as a grave expression came across his handsome, unshaven face.

"She's not doing well," he said solemnly. Though it was said as a statement, his eyes seemed to be questioning Kim.

Never breaking from his gaze, she shook her head "no."

"Tell me."

There was no point in hiding the truth from him. "Cancer; stage four. She's dying."

He bowed his head, eyes squeezing shut as he took in this news.

"She also had a stroke last week," Kim continued, "and half of her body is paralyzed. We know she doesn't have much longer, but she's hanging in there as best as she can. She's so damn strong," she ended in a whisper.

Despite his averted gaze, she could tell he was listening. This was evident when his hand squeezed hers even tighter, but not enough to hurt her. "She doesn't know I'm here?"

"No."

"Would she ever suspect?"

She shook her head. "With the way she is now, I don't think she'd ever know that you were here."

A pause. When he looked at her again, she almost thought she saw tears pooling at the bottoms of his eyes. "Can…Can I see her?"

It was the last request she expected him to make, especially considering his reaction the night before. He wants to see Grandma…

No. Not just my grandmother, she realized. He wants to see his _sister._ The little sister he'd been torn away from, the one who believed he'd died back in 1944. Was that really something he could handle right now?

Her throat went dry. "A-are you sure?"

"I…"

She waited. Judging by the look in his eyes, it was hard to say if he really _was_ sure, and that hit her harder than she anticipated. She wished she there was something she could do to alleviate the suffering caused by his chaotic thoughts.

He sighed heavily. "I need to see her," his quiet voice sounded strained. "Please."

* * *

There was no further discussion on the matter. Crossing her arms, Kim stood in the doorway of her grandmother's dimly lit bedroom, staring at Bucky's back while his gaze remained locked upon the elderly woman sleeping peacefully beneath the white comforter. For the longest time, he didn't move. Just stood as still and silent as a statue. She'd assured him that Rebecca wouldn't hear anything, but she didn't fault him for feeling extremely apprehensive. After all, this was the first time he was seeing his sister in over seventy years. A sister whose face had resurfaced in his fragmented memory, despite all of HYDRA's attempts at brainwashing.

Looking at her now, though, she doubted that her aged face resembled the sister Bucky might have once known.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Kim saw his broad shoulders rise as he drew in a breath, and the way they shook when he released it. Very hesitantly, he began to take steps toward Rebecca's bed. It was incredible that those big combat boots of his made no sound as he crossed the hardwood floor.

Kim watched. She watched as he almost silently walked with his back to her, and she bit down uncertainly on her lip as he came to a halt at Rebecca's bedside. Looming over her, he said nothing as he continued to stare. Bucky Barnes and Rebecca Proctor. Reunited at last.

Out of respect, she remained as equally quiet as her uncle, allowing this time to be solely between her elder relatives.

For a long time, Bucky maintained his silent vigil, the only movement visible in the occasional rise and fall of his shoulders from behind. For at least ten minutes, that was how he remained. Kim was touched by his dedicated stance, and felt warmth spread throughout her chest as she continued to observe him. God, what she would give to know what was going on inside his head right now…

Then another kind of movement caught her eye: Bucky, ever-so-slowly bringing his right hand to his forehead, and giving a perfect salute to his dying sister.

Kim stifled the sob that threatened to escape her lips, the warmth beneath her chest intensifying into an exquisite burn. Oh my God…At a funeral for a friend's grandfather—a former marine—she'd seen a group of veterans honor their fallen comrade in a similar manner, all conveying the same quiet message: _Thank you, brother_. Tears automatically fell from her eyes, but whether they were tears of love or heartbreak, she couldn't be sure. Part of her wondered what message Bucky possibly had for Rebecca in that moment, but she wouldn't dare to encroach on their privacy.

Lowering his hand just as slowly as he'd raised it, Bucky lingered by the side of his long-lost sister for a just little while longer. When it appeared he'd finally sated his curiosity, he turned in Kim's direction, but didn't look her in the eye when he did. Keeping his head bowed, he headed for the doorway with long, quiet strides, and Kim let him pass without a word. She looked after him, wanting to say something reassuring, but didn't. She'd seen the light shining off the thin streaks of tears on his face, and the last thing he needed to do right now was talk.

She sighed, wiping the tears from her own cheeks. Casting one last glance at her grandmother, she felt certain that the woman hadn't been disturbed by their temporary intrusion, and she reached over to flip the switch on the nearby wall, darkening the room completely.

Out in the hall, Bucky's hands gripped the railing overlooking the first floor, his head still bent low as he silently dealt with his emotions. The faint light from below illuminated his silhouette, and from where she stood, Kim had a full-on view of the red star on his bionic shoulder. Even in the dark, that stood out vibrantly. Much like the previous night, there was little thought as she came over to him and instinctively covered that star with one hand, an offer of comfort. She felt him stiffen beneath her touch, but he didn't look at her or object to the contact. For this Kim was pleased…and was even more gratified when Bucky's right hand reached up to cover her own. Her pulse quickened initially, then calmed significantly as they simply held on to one another.

She heard a soft sigh from him as his head bowed even further, his hand tightening around hers. Kim's own fingers responded by trying to tighten around his metallic shoulder, and her eyes closed as more tears squeezed free. It didn't take her long to realize what was going on here. His sister was dying; her grandmother was dying; they were both in mourning over the inevitable fate of someone dear to them both. Even if Bucky didn't fully understand how much Rebecca Proctor meant to him, deep down, he knew she meant _something_ to him. There was no doubt in Kim's mind that he was able to empathize with her pain.

Kim wasn't sure how long they remained there; then again, she really wasn't keeping track of time. When she caught herself once again wishing she could hug him, she forced the thought aside and opted to break the quiet. "Look," she started, almost choking on the mere word. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "I don't think it's a good night for either of us to do any talking, so why don't we just…" She fished for something beneficial to offer, but all she managed to come up with was, "Why don't—why don't we just watch a movie?"

He drew up at her suggestion, brow furrowing, then smoothing, then furrowing again as he contemplated her suggestion. Then—"Okay."

She was mildly surprised. "Yeah?"

He angled his head towards her. "Yes."

Okay, then. Next step was to decide on what they could both watch. She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Ever seen any of the _Star Wars_ movies?"

He shook his head once. "No."

* * *

Steve had compiled an extensive list of things he needed to experience in order to catch up on the twenty-first century. One of those items was to watch all the _Star Wars_ movies, based on the overwhelming recommendations he'd received from various friends and colleagues. Being the avid fan that she was of those films, Kim had insisted that she would be the one introduce him to them at some point. With his busy schedule, though, he hadn't had a chance to sit down and watch them with her yet.

It looked as though Bucky was going to beat him to the punch on this one.

She decided it was best to start him from the true beginning, and set about inserting _Episode IV_ into the living room DVD player. Perhaps delving into the realm of sci-fantasy would take his mind off of harsher things, even if only temporarily. With his bionic arm and combative clothes, Bucky appeared somewhat out of place on Rebecca's floral sofa, but Kim hardly found that necessary to mention aloud. Taking her place in her green chair, she curled her legs beneath her, eyes focused on the television as she navigated the movie's menu screen.

"Your hair looks different," Bucky mentioned all of a sudden.

She looked at him. "Hmm? Oh," she touched one of the loose tresses framing her face. "Yeah. I usually straighten it, but it curls up if I just let it air-dry."

"Natural curls?"

"Mm-hmm."

He gave a short nod. "It looks nice."

She was quiet for a moment, but then gave him a soft smile. "Thanks."

Amazingly, his posture seemed to relax before her eyes, and he almost looked normal just sitting there in her living room. Almost. Their gazes remained locked for several more seconds, and then Kim hit the play button to start the movie. For the most part, the tone of the evening had been quite somber, but she released a peaceful sigh as a familiar phrase appeared on-screen: _"A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…"_


	7. One Step Back

The following morning, Kim's hands gripped the steering wheel of her car as she drove further into downtown D.C. Originally, she'd been tempted to stay home in order to spend more time with Bucky, but the rational side of her advised against it. She had other obligations that required her attention—especially her physical therapy sessions—and a sudden change in her routine would not be the wisest move to make. Not unless she wanted to start raising the suspicions of those closest to her. At the very least, those involved with _Iron Wings_ were aware of Rebecca Proctor's deteriorating health, and the fact that Aunt Laura had been too ill to visit over the weekend gave Kim a solid alibi for her recent absences.

Being an amputee hadn't held her back from getting her driver's license two years ago, which she saw as an important teenage rite of passage. Kim refused to let such an opportunity pass her by, and her grandmother wouldn't have had it any other way. Thankfully, amputees could legally drive if vehicular modifications were applied for their handicaps. In Kim's case, that meant an accelerator pedal on the left side of the floor instead of the right.

The car she was currently driving had actually been a gift from Stark, one that had been specially modified for her to use after earning her license. Not only was there an accelerator on the left, but also one on the right side, which allowed her to develop her driving skills with both legs. This meant another chance to implement her prosthetic into even more of her daily activities, as well as assist Stark with making further improvements to his future models. Add to that the fact that Stark covered any insurance payments and repairs for the vehicle, and Kim had even more reason to be eternally grateful to the brilliant man. How many people in this world got to see such a generous side of him? She really was damned lucky.

If only gratitude could be the one emotion filling her heart right now. Her hands tightened on the wheel. Though her eyes remained focused on the road ahead, her mind hardly registered the various businesses, government buildings, apartment complexes, and homes that passed on either side. Her thoughts were very much elsewhere, very much preoccupied with other matters.

Preoccupied with thoughts about Bucky, and wherever he was now.

Coming to a stop at another traffic light, she released a sigh. Driving helped to distract her thoughts for a time, but once again, the ensuing pause caused her mind to replay the rough interlude between her and Bucky earlier that day.

* * *

_Kim couldn't help but smile. She'd half-expected to come downstairs and find Bucky already up and wandering around, perhaps exploring parts of the house he hadn't yet seen, or gazing at family photographs on the walls._

_And yet, here he was, still sleeping on the couch, still in the very spot where she'd left him. She'd retired to her own room sometime after ten the previous night, and Bucky had sworn that she would see him again when the sun rose. His exact words. Such a promise had filled her with peace, and knowing he would be just downstairs made the house feel safer than it had in a very long time._

_She tilted her head as she continued to stare at him. Somehow, he'd fallen asleep while sitting up, his head hanging forward in a manner that obscured her view of his face. Man, he_ must _have been exhausted to fall asleep in that position. Was that really comfortable for him? But something about his posture told her that he'd done this many times before. Despite any possible discomfort, she had to admit: this was the most tranquil she'd seen him up to this point. Something about seeing him in the daylight made him seem less sinister, and she secretly hoped that as time progressed, this could become more of a norm for him._

_Her smile remained. She hated the idea of waking him, but knew she had to. Jen was due to arrive in less than half an hour, and she didn't want to run the risk of him being discovered. Jen might perceive him as a dangerous intruder—or might even recognize him from HYDRA's leaked files—and Kim couldn't let that happen._

_Bucky will understand, she thought, reaching out to give him a gentle shake—_

_The next few seconds seemed to happen in an absolute blur. Her fingertips had barely grazed his shoulder when he suddenly snapped wide awake, releasing a fierce growl as he roughly seized her arm with his right hand. Kim could only manage a terrified gasp at the pain that shot through her arm, but then fell dead silent when she felt a coolness press against her exposed throat. Time slowed to a crawl as her eyes went wide, her stomach instantly dropping. She knew that while his right hand gripped her arm, his bionic hand was holding a dagger against her neck; she'd been observant enough on that first night to see it hanging from the sheath on his utility belt. Her heart was pounding fearfully in her chest. It was a weapon that, no doubt, had been used to kill before, and now he was threatening to use it…on_ her _._

_Oh God…oh God…_

_Even though she was terrified beyond rational thought, she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his, and could only await his next move as she stared into the depths of those untamed blue-grey orbs._

_But then something completely changed in them, like a lightning-flash of recognition as soon as his mind registered who she was. Then an expression of ultimate horror overcame his features, and the bionic hand pulled the dagger from her throat completely and flung it away. Spitting out what must have been a Russian curse, Bucky abruptly stood to his full height and took her face between both hands, going completely still as he held her firmly. If Kim could have gasped, she would have, but the ability to simply breathe had momentarily fled._

" _I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Kim," his voice was a strained whisper. "I'm sorry."_

 _She was too stunned to even blink, let alone verbally accept his apology. Slowly, she became aware of the incessant trembling of her body, as well as the gentle pressure of his hands on her face. That was the operative word_ _ **:**_ gentle _ **.**_ _Only seconds ago, those hands had been fully capable of—and ready to—slit her jugular vein, but now they held onto her in an almost desperate manner. His right hand was warm; the left was as cold as the blade he'd pressed to her neck. Despite the striking contrast, both of them were carefully cupping her cheeks in a quiet demonstration of his regret, his face slowly lowering until his forehead nearly touched hers._

" _I'm sorry," he repeated, his eyes tightly squeezed shut. "I'm sorry…"_

_The tips of his long hair were tickling her face. Feeling her chest jump from lack of air, she finally pulled some much-needed oxygen into her lungs before exhaling shakily. Breathe, she reminded herself and swallowed hard. Breathe._

" _I'm sorry."_

 _Breathe…She listened as he continued to speak, the concern in his tone completely filling her ears and striking her heart. But there was something else she was slowly becoming aware of: the underlying sense of_ fear _emanating from him. She felt it in his touch, heard it in his voice…he was just as afraid of what had taken place as she was._

_God, Bucky…_

_Soon, it didn't matter that warm and cold were cradling either side of her face. The more she focused on the fact that it was his touch, the more of a unified comfort it became._

_Swallowing a little less nervously, she brought her trembling hands to his wrists, wrapping her fingers around metal and flesh. At her touch, his hands pressed tighter against her face, but only briefly, and he never went so far as to truly inflict pain. Then his grip relaxed when he released a shaky breath of his own._

_All the while, Kim maintained her grasp on him, feeling quite small as he hovered over her, but also feeling strong sense of protection emitting from him at the same time. "Shhhhhh," she soothed, not really sure what else to say. "Shhh…"_

_His eyes were still closed. "I'm sorry…"_

" _Shhh, it's okay," she persisted, keeping her tone low and even. As she spoke, she realized she was no longer shaking, but could now feel the tremors rocking his own hands. It was almost funny to think about how their roles had been reversed. "It's okay."_

_He started to say something more, but the words died in his throat. Gently squeezing his wrists, Kim tried to convey as much reassurance to him as possible. All too soon, though, she could tangibly detect the heartbreaking sensation of his aura withdrawing from her._

_Pulling back at the same time, they locked eyes, Kim seeing those troubled pools stare sorrowfully into hers. She wasn't backing down from his gaze, nor was she shying away._

" _Bucky?"_

_His lower lip quivered, but he still said nothing, eyes continuing to bore into hers as they silently conveyed his fathomless regret. He hesitated a moment longer, and then Kim felt his hands slip away from her face, the skin of her cheeks strangely cool now that his palms were gone. Clenching his jaw, he turned stiffly and walked away._

_Kim gave a start at his movements. "Bucky, wait—"_

_He didn't._

_An acute panic began to well within her. Lunging after him, she managed to close the gap between them as she reached for him. "Sergeant!"_

_It wasn't until her hand landed on the solid bicep of his right arm that he came to a complete stop. He waited. Silently. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, but the angle of his head told her that she had his attention._

_Kim's eyes saddened. In her gut, she knew nothing she said would convince him to stay right now. That last look in his eyes exhibited the trauma he felt after what he'd nearly done, and it was clear he just needed to get away. From her. From Rebecca. From anyone he didn't wish to cause harm._

_Had similar thoughts plagued him after what he did to Steve?_

_She bit down on her lip as premature tears pricked behind her eyes, and all she could think of to say was, "Please come back to me." It came out as a whisper._

_He said nothing, but lingered for several more silent seconds. Then he walked away, never once looking back as Kim's fingers slid smoothly from his arm. He headed straight through the doorway leading to the dining room until he disappeared from sight, and Kim just watched him go. From the kitchen, she heard his fading footsteps, the familiar sound of the sliding door as it opened and closed, and then there was nothing._

_Kim felt hot lines of quiet tears fall down her face, and she didn't bother wiping them away. Come back to me, Bucky, she thought sadly, still staring in the direction he'd gone. She dug her fingernails into her palm as a fresh round of tears spilled from her eyes. I don't care how long it takes. Just come back to me…_

* * *

A blast from the car horn behind her startled Kim out of thought, and she realized the traffic light had already turned green. She blinked, then gave her head a brief shake.

Right; sorry.

Easing her foot back onto the gas, she propelled the car forward once more, and a long, slow breath passed through her lips.

"You seem a bit distracted today, Miss Proctor," a voice with a British accent seemed to come out of nowhere, but it didn't startle Kim. "That was the second time a driver had to prompt you at an intersection this morning. Are you alright?"

Back when she was sixteen, that took some getting used to, but anymore, that voice had become as familiar as Steve's. "Yeah…yeah, I'm fine, JARVIS."

"Do you require any assistance with your acceleration?"

Even though a great deal was weighing on her mind, his interruption seemed to lighten her heart, even if only temporarily. Leave it to Stark to link his personal AI system to the car he'd modified for her. When he wasn't around to keep an eye on her, JARVIS could monitor her every so often. "Naw, I've got it. Just thinking."

"Thoughts regarding your grandmother's condition?"

She could almost hear the genuine concern in his computerized voice. Sometimes, the descriptor "artificial" didn't seem right for him. "That's…definitely part of it."

"There is something else, then?"

She gave a short wave, even though he wouldn't see it. "Just personal stuff. Not really anything I want to go into detail about."

"Understood. Ah, and Miss Proctor, incoming message from Mr. Stark."

"Yeah? What's he say?"

"While I would choose to put it more eloquently, the message states, 'Your ass had better be ready to work today, kiddo.'"

That finally got a smile out of her, though it was fleeting. "Tell him I said, 'Yes, sir.'"

"I shall relay the response immediately. Judging by your current speed, you will be arriving with time to spare before your scheduled appointment at ten o'clock. If there's anything else you require, please be sure to let me know."

It was like having an invisible butler in her car. "Actually, JARVIS? Do you mind taking over for the rest of the drive? Nothing to do with my leg, I just…I need a little quiet time before I get there."

"Of course, Miss. I will be sure to log the miles you have driven, which will be complied into your weekly report for Mr. Stark."

"Sounds good. Thanks, JARVIS."

A brief chime indicated that he'd activated the vehicle's automatic navigation system, so Kim let her hands slide from the wheel, which occasionally moved back and forth of its own volition, and removed her foot from the gas. The coordinates for the Candleman Center were already pre-programmed into JARVIS' memory bank, and he would safely take her the rest of the way. Stark's version of a smart car truly had no equal.

With the absence of JARVIS' voice, the interior of the car was quiet once again, and Kim's thoughts inevitably returned to Bucky. It was difficult not to dwell on the darkness she'd seen in his eyes, and to say she hadn't been scared senseless by his actions would have been a bold-faced lie. She'd been downright terrified, and it ripped her heart in two just thinking about what he'd nearly done. The fact that he…that _the Winter Soldier_ could have killed her should have been prominent in her mind, but…

His eyes. When she'd looked into them, malice hadn't been the only thing she'd seen; there'd also been shame. Pure, undeniable shame. He didn't want hurt her, and managed to stop himself before anything could happen.

That's just it, though, isn't it? She pondered to herself. He hasn't really been Bucky Barnes since 1944; HYDRA forced the Winter Soldier to take his place, and that's not an identity he can just get rid of. This is who he's been for the last seventy years. It's no damn _wonder_ he feels so screwed up from time to time. But when he grabbed you, he _saw_ you. He _knew_ you. Whatever the Winter Soldier was planning to do, Bucky managed to break through and keep you safe.

_Family is a haven in a heartless world._

Her heart skipped a beat. Those words. She remembered them very well, remembered how adamant he'd sounded when he spoke them to her. Yes, she'd been afraid of him, but…

_You are family, Kim, and I came to protect my family._

_Protect_ me, she thought as she chewed on her lower lip. Protect his niece. Bringing a hand to her forehead, she rubbed gently at one of her temples, hoping the sensation would somehow ease the worries running through her mind.

Bucky, it wasn't your fault…

Before she knew it, JARVIS was announcing, "We have arrived at your destination."

Kim looked up and, sure enough, was gazing out her windshield at the two-story brick structure known as the _WINSTEN P. CANDLEMAN CENTER_.

Huh. That was quick, she thought to herself. The facility was located down the road from one of the main hospitals in D.C., and was utilized by a multitude of patients nearly every day of the week. In fact, the very hospital it neighbored was where Steve had recuperated back in April. Thanks to the effects of his super-soldier serum, he hadn't required any physical therapy after the fact, but that didn't stop him from visiting Kim when he knew she had appointments there.

Looking hindsight, she now understood why he'd seemed rather distant during those visits: thoughts of Bucky had been weighing heavily on his mind…

But she shook the memory away for the time being. She _had_ to. "I still don't know whether I should be impressed that your parking skills are so much better than mine," she unbuckled her seat belt, "or if I should hate your guts for it."

"Seeing how I lack the guts you refer to, perhaps the former would be the best option out of the two."

That got her smirking. "See, it's when you say shit like that that makes me wonder if you really _were_ related to Mr. Stark in a past life."

"I can assure you that the possibility of any genetic link between Mr. Stark and I is non-existent."

She gave a laugh, shaking her head. "Whatever; you're awesome, JARVIS," she said, grabbing her duffel bag from the passenger's seat. "Thanks for the ride."

"Have a productive session, Miss Proctor."

Switching off the ignition, she paused and took a long, deep breath, mentally prepping herself to face those she hadn't seen since Bucky had made his first appearance. You can do this; you _need_ to do this, she told herself. Even if nothing had happened this morning, you would have come here anyway, and you need to let everyone know that you're okay. Just get yourself through today. You may be concerned about where Bucky is, but you sure as hell know that if he needs to, he can take care of himself. You have to believe that he'll come back eventually. He _has_ to.

Besides, Grandma wouldn't approve of you intentionally missing anymore of your appointments.

That last mention stung her heart far more than she anticipated it would, and was all the incentive she needed to finally get out of the car.

* * *

"Hey, Kim! Good to see you."

"Morning, Kim."

"Hey, look who made it!"

The automatic doors had barely hissed to a close behind her when a barrage of salutations came Kim's way. Though she reminded herself to act naturally, her smiles were hardly forced as she greeted the familiar faces of those she saw on a regular basis, those that had become a different kind of family to her away from home.

Volunteers and a few of her friends from _Iron Wings_ had sessions of their own today, and one or two vacated their weight machines in order to give her quick hugs.

A couple of their physical therapists and other staff members accompanied their clients as they welcomed her back, some quietly inquiring about her grandmother's health.

Even a wheelchair-bound corporal from the U.S. army—a new patient here—wheeled himself over to shake her hand for the first time, which she gladly reciprocated. This surprised no one. Kim was always pleased to meet those who defended her country, and she didn't have to think twice about why.

Ever since becoming involved with the establishment of _Iron Wings_ , hers had become one of the most recognized faces in the entire program, second only to Tony Stark. Admittedly, the attention was something she'd never really gotten used to. It was strange to go from an unknown teenager to someone who'd essentially become a household name in certain circles of the medical community. Three years later, her story continued to resonate with countless others across the globe, many of whom were in situations similar to her own. Never a day went by when her e-mail inbox and blog threads weren't flooded with inspirational stories from other amputees, and messages of support from all kinds of followers. Unknown to the world no more…and not as alone as she once feared she was.

Most of her communications with these individuals were limited to online interactions, but when it came to her days at the Candleman Center, it didn't occur to her to mind being personable with anyone, even those who simply approached her to say "hi." Some might have believed that she felt obligated as a representative of _Iron Wings_ to make herself accessible here, and while she did feel a certain sense of duty in her role, she saw it as more of a privilege than anything else. These were people from various backgrounds embarking on journeys of their own, and to be a part of that process was incredibly rewarding for her heart.

Of course, one of the best examples of this was—

"Hey, Miss Proctor! You're here!"

The joyful yell that rang out loudly and clearly caused a calm smile to spread across Kim's features, and she had to suppress a reflexive urge to call out "Inside voice!" in response. Looking past the colonel, she saw Sammy Glenn—donning an Avengers t-shirt—hobbling toward her on his thin, titanium legs, a huge grin plastered on his face. His gate was choppy, but she could tell his movements had become more limber as of late.

She excused herself from the colonel with one last shake of the hand, then went to one knee as she caught her "little brother" in a one-armed hug. "Yeah, I'm here. Hey, bud." Lifting her eyes, she nodded to Sammy's physical therapist in order to silently convey, "I've got him." The PT waved back and allowed them their privacy.

In her arms, Sammy said, "You were supposed run with me on Friday."

Oh man, the words being so close to her ear filled her with guilt. Ever since he'd had been fitted for his first set of J-shaped running models, he wanted to practice running with Kim when she volunteered every Friday. It was time he looked forward to each week, and she hated feeling like she'd let him down. Pulling back, she gave him a sad look. "I know, and I'm really sorry, Sammy."

He raised his eyebrows knowingly. "Your grandma?"

She nodded.

Amazingly, his expression was one of utter comprehension, and he hugged her again. "Sorry, Miss Proctor."

She sighed quietly, holding him tightly to her. Sammy, you have no idea how much I wish I could just…tell you...

But instead, she settled for, "It's okay, bud." Then, she gave a small chuckle. "Seriously, though: 'Miss Proctor'? You realize you can just call me Kim, right?"

"And incur the wrath of Mrs. Glenn by referring to his elders in such a casual manner? Come, now: the boy was brought up with much more common sense than that," proclaimed a man's voice from behind.

Kim's eyes widened, but only for a moment, and she turned her head until she was looking up at the face Tony Stark himself. A very dressed-down Tony Stark, but even donning sneakers, jeans, and one of his Black Sabbath t-shirts, he still came across as one of the most well put-together individuals she'd ever seen. Maybe it had to do with that neat little goatee of his.

"Hey, Mr. Stark!" Sammy beamed, and others turned and murmured excitedly when they realized who'd arrived for an unscheduled visit.

"You see? He's been well taught." He half-smiled, giving him a high-five. "S'up, Speedy?"

She appreciated the attention that Stark gave him, as well as the other three kids who ran over to greet the hero they knew as Iron Man. Standing to her full height, Kim draped an arm around Sammy's shoulders as she locked eyes with the casually-dressed billionaire. His appearance certainly didn't take away from the aura of importance he perpetually emitted, and as usual, he'd captivated all within the facility just by walking in.

Kim, of course, simply saw him as her friend. "Hi, Mr. Stark."

He briefly raised an eyebrow. "Kimbo," he greeted her in his typical fashion, "I assume you got my message."

She smiled gently, shouldering her duffel bag a bit closer to herself. "I did, but JARVIS failed to mention that you'd be making an appearance today."

Those keen brown eyes of his were never without their edge of humor. "That's funny: I could have sworn it was you who extended the invitation in the first place."

She was well aware of the invitation he was referring to: her blog entry from last night. "I did, didn't I?" She said, ducking her eyes briefly.

Normally, Snarky Starky had an endless supply of comebacks at the ready, many of which were bound to make her laugh hysterically (she cursed him when he'd actually gotten her to snort one time). Today, however, he was regarding her quite carefully, which was evident in the way he discreetly narrowed his eyes at her. It was obvious that he was going to be keeping the jokes to a minimum for the time being. "We have some serious work ahead of us, but let's have a private chat before we get started, shall we?"

Her brows rose slightly, but then a mild wave of relief passed through her at his suggestion. He was keeping their conversations out here short so they could seek that privacy as soon as possible. Yes, she certainly could use a chat, and Stark was the only person she could confide in right now. "Yeah," she said, feeling as though the word came out slowly. "Let's."

"Good." In his hand was his laptop case, as well as the small black bag he always brought with him. _Stark Industries_ was stitched across both of them in white italicized letters. "You ready now, or you need a sec?"

"Give me a minute to put this way," she indicated her bag, "I'll be right back."

He gave a short nod, but then he cocked his head as he gazed at her a moment longer. "Your hair looks curlier than usual."

The flush that rose to Kim's cheeks was unexpected…but then again, so was his comment. All she could think about was the fact that Bucky had made a similar observation the night before. She opened her mouth to speak, but for the life of her could think of nothing to say.

But Stark hardly seemed to mind her lack of words. "Looks nice, kiddo."

Her blush remained. Second time she heard _that_ in less than twenty-four hours, too. "Thanks."

"Alright, room five when you're ready," he said very matter-of-factly, then glanced down at Sammy and held out one of his bags. "Hey, Speedy, you want to make yourself useful for a few minutes?"

"Yeah!"

She giggled as she ran a hand over his short, coarse hair. "Go on; I'll be there in a few."

As Stark lead Sammy down one of the side hallways, she listened to the boy proudly go on to Stark about his activities at the center. Though his back was now to her, Kim could tell that Stark was smiling at the boy's enthusiasm.

Her hand relaxing on the shoulder strap of her bag, Kim made her way to the women's locker room at the back of the building.

The familiar odor of cleaning chemicals filled her nose as she entered the white-tiled area, but it didn't punch her in the face the way the smell of chlorine did at the YMCA. Inside, a mother assisted her young daughter with her knee brace, and Kim pretended to busy herself with her iPhone as she headed towards the lockers. When the pair finally exited, she pocketed her phone and took a moment to scan her surroundings. The only sounds were the noises and voices that occasionally filtered in from the adjoining weight-room.

Get moving, she ordered herself. You won't have this place to yourself for very long.

She placed her duffel bag in one of the lockers and, even though she was alone, used her body to block it from anyone's potential view. Unzipping, she pulled it open and gazed at the item lying atop her change of clothes, the very reason she'd been holding her bag so close to her since walking into the center: Bucky's dagger. The one he'd threatened her with, and the one he'd left behind in her living room.

She stared for a long, silent moment, noting its silvery three-inch blade and the well-crafted ebony handle. Strange how something so small could be considered such a deadly weapon. In the right hands, though…

She touched the smooth handle with two fingertips. Stupid, she chastised herself. It was stupid to stash this in her bag; she _knew_ it was stupid. At the time, though, it had been nothing more than a split-second decision on her part. What if Jen had walked in the door right then and there, and discovered her holding this knife? What if Kim _hadn't_ found it first and Jen happened to come across it while she was cleaning or something? What explanation could Kim possibly offer as to where this weapon had suddenly come from, and why it was in the house? Should she have just told Jen the truth about what happened?

She thought about Bucky's tormented eyes, feeling her heart clench beneath her chest. No, her mind whispered. She couldn't do that. Regardless of what had taken place that morning, Kim had already decided that she would continue to keep Bucky's existence a deeply guarded secret.

Her hand surrounded the handle entirely, just holding onto it within her bag. How odd that the shape of it felt so…so _natural_ against her the curves of her palm.

Did Bucky ever think the same thing whenever he held it?

Giving her head a shake, she reminded herself that Stark was waiting for her, and carefully concealed the dagger beneath her spare shirt. She was taking a big risk by bringing this inside with her, but it was better than leaving it out in her car. She wasn't about to tempt fate by leaving a weapon where someone else could get access to it. I'm not hiding anything to hurt anyone, she asserted, taking her water bottle out of the bag and zipping it shut. I'm protecting my family. You _are_ my family, Bucky. I have to protect you somehow.

Kim's ears detected faint giggles just outside the locker room. Angling her head, she listened as the voices grew louder, closer.

Time's up, she told herself, shutting the locker with a metallic _chink_.

Sure enough, a quartet of young girls was ushered in by a physical therapist, their chattering enhanced by the openness of the room. Kim recognized two of them as _Iron Wings_ members, and judging by their damp swimsuits, they'd just completed an aquatic therapy session in the center's pool. They waved excitedly when they saw her, and Kim waved back with a smile.

Securing the locker with her Master lock, she went over to one of the mirrors to give herself one last look. In the beginning, Stark would often sing "Back in Black" at her, since her typical workout get-up consisted of that very color: black gym shorts, black Cruxshadows t-shirt, even the Nike cross-trainers on both of her feet were black. Well, it _was_ an easy theme to work with.

And it made the green of her eyes stand out even more.

It took her only a few seconds to re-do her ponytail, and then she was finally exiting the locker room, re-tracing her steps as she headed for room five in the clinical suite hallway.


	8. Stark Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of human experimentation during the Holocaust.

The clinical suites at the Candleman Center reminded Kim of the medical exam rooms she often frequented in doctors' offices. These, however, had been built with physically handicapped persons in mind. All were built large enough to accommodate those with casts, crutches, wheelchairs, and other forms of mobilizing aids. At times, doctors or nurses would come from the hospital for impromptu check-ups with their patients, and these rooms offered them the privacy they needed for medical matters. She and Stark also used these rooms as places to meet and discuss her progress with the prosthetics he provided for her.

Today's conversation, of course, would not be limited to issues pertaining to prostheses.

Within room five, Kim and Sammy both watched while Stark keyed commands into that incredible laptop of his. She quickly identified the diagnostic program he was running for her prosthetic which, to her, looked like nothing more than a series of boxes and numbers. Whatever they represented, though, Stark obviously understood the language. Thank goodness for his brilliant mind.

"See that?" Stark said, mostly to Sammy.

The boy cocked his head. "Yeah, but I still don't get it."

Beside them, Stark chuckled. "It gives me readings whenever Kim's performing her exercises. Right now this is showing her at rest. There's a little activity going on since it requires some strength to hold you up, but otherwise, it's nothing spectacular to look at, right? But if she utilizes her leg—bend your knee for a sec, would you?"

Kim complied, bending her right knee a few times, and as she did so, there was a sudden increase in the flow of activity on-screen.

Stark raised his arms triumphantly. " _Viola_. Instant feedback."

"Whoa, weird," Sammy breathed, inching forward to get a better look at the screen. Each time she bent her leg, a new stream of data flowed right before his eyes, and his head moved with it as though he was watching a tennis match. Glancing up at Kim, he asked, "Does it do that when you walk around?"

"It's a little different," she said. "Here; watch." To humor him, she paced the length of the room, knowing that a steady stream of digital data was now flowing with every step she took.

"Cool!" Sammy exclaimed. "It's like it's thinking or something."

"Exactly," Stark proclaimed, pleased with his analysis. "Each time she makes a movement, Kim's implant sends back signals to show me what's going on with the internal structure of the leg itself."

"So this can, like, tell you what's wrong with it? Like what she wrote about yesterday?" He, too, was a regular reader of her blog.

"Not exactly, but it can help me pinpoint where a problem might be occurring, and I can start taking the necessary steps in order to correct it."

"And you can understand all that stuff?" Sammy asked incredulously, pointing to the ever-moving lines of numbers.

"What can I say? Computer generated sequences are my friends."

"Wow…"

Kim smiled faintly at his fascination. She'd heard Stark give this same explanation before, but it was the first time Sammy was getting a chance to see his equipment up-close like this.

He then asked, "When I get legs like that, will my numbers look the same?"

Kim paused in her step, though neither of them appeared to notice. When he gets legs like mine, she repeated to herself with growing uncertainty…

"It'll be roughly the same idea," Stark was still speaking, "but with two prosthetic legs, we'll see a lot more in terms of digital feedback."

"Cool, man! I'm gonna knock those numbers right off the screen someday!"

Stark smiled. "That's the spirit, Speedy! Eventually, you'll be able to run circles around your mentor without even breaking a sweat," he nodded back at Kim.

For the time being, Kim pushed her own doubts aside to give the man an affirming smile. Coming back to the boy's side, she placed a hand on his shoulder, which prompted him to look up at her. "That's right," she said, "and we're going to do everything we can to make sure you earn that nickname."

His expression automatically brightened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'm not the greatest runner, but I'm going to keep practicing with you until _you_ become a natural at it. I want you to be able to outrun me someday."

He grinned up at her, bringing his small brown hand to cover hers. "You know what, Miss Proctor? You're alright."

As she smiled warmly, a knock sounded behind them, and the trio turned to see Sammy's physical therapist standing in the doorway.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "But…"

"Looks like our time's up, Speedy," Stark announced.

"Aww, man," Sammy whined in his not-so-discreet manner. "Things were just starting to get really good."

Stark shook his head—muttering, "I love this kid," before returning his attention to his laptop—while Kim, in an attempt to reassure her young charge, said, "Listen, when I get done working with Mr. Stark, how about you and I run a few laps together? To make up for missing our time on Friday?"

Judging by the look on his face, she could clearly see how much he appreciated her suggestion. "Promise?"

She gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Promise."

He whooped excitedly, but before he could tear away from her, she stooped down and pulled him in for one last hug. "Work hard today, okay?"

"Okay!"

Her hold on him lingered for a few more seconds. Then with a sigh, she released him, and he hobbled across the floor to his PT on those spindly metal legs with a renewed sense of urgency.

"Come on, you heard her," he grabbed the man's hand, "we got work to do. See you later, Mr. Stark!"

"Sure thing. Thanks for all your help, Speedy."

"No prob!"

As Sammy and his PT exited the room, they pulled the door shut behind them, leaving Kim and Stark alone at last. Sammy had been a good distraction, but as soon as he was gone, it was amazing how quiet the room had suddenly become. Quiet like her living room after…

She discreetly bit her lip; it was hard not to think about it.

"Well now," Stark said, pulling her from her thoughts as he continued to work at his laptop. "' _Mr_.' Stark? Didn't we talk about that, or am I going to have to actually beat some sense into you?"

Oh-ho; she recognized that hint of humor etched into his words, and felt the corners of her mouth twitch in response. "Hey," she fired back, crossing her arms, "I don't want Sammy developing any bad habits around you because of me, otherwise _I'll_ be the one facing the wrath of Mrs. Glenn."

He finally looked up and met her eyes, then gave a conceding nod. "Okay, you've got a point. Just so long as it's Tony in private, c _apiche_?"

" _Capiche_ , Tony."

Then, turning away from the electronic device entirely, he raised his arms towards her in an expectant manner.

Kim wasn't sure which struck her harder: his spontaneous gesture, or the look of genuine concern radiating from his eyes. Either way, her heart swelled as she strode over to Stark and wrapped her arms around his waist, allowing herself to be enveloped in his embrace. Resting her head against his chest, she sighed appreciatively. She wouldn't lie: she needed this. It was amazing how something as simple as a hug could provide her with so much comfort, but it was true. Comfort. Reassurance. Protection. She felt them every time she was embraced by her grandmother; by Steve; and now she felt equal comfort in Stark's embrace.

Unlike Steve, Stark was not a particularly affectionate person, but since the resurgence of her grandmother's cancer, it had become a more common occurrence when he visited. For this, Kim was quietly grateful. The arms around her were warm, solid; the faint, sharp scent of Old Spice filling her senses as she inhaled against his dark shirt; the bristly hairs of his goatee lightly scratching the skin of her forehead. All of it was so familiar to her; so Stark. She just held onto him—realizing she really _had_ needed this for quite some time—and he let her hold him for as long as she needed. If only he understood just how much he was helping to calm her, helping to ease the multitude of worries that were still present in her mind. Not just worries for Rebecca's health, or concerns over Steve's safety, but also…

The dark memory flashed through her mind without warning: a glimpse of Bucky…the frightful look in his eyes as he pressed that dagger to her throat…the wild, unseeing gaze penetrating her like the cold point of that blade…

Her eyes snapped shut, an involuntary shiver running up her spine.

Stark's arms tightened around her reflexively. "It's alright," he soothed quietly, rubbing a hand across her upper back, "I've got you."

Her fingertips pressed into his backside. It was moments like this that reminded her why she considered him a true friend. She sighed softly as she relaxed in his arms, her racing thoughts slowing and gradually coming into focus.

Bucky, she thought. She could see his face so clearly in her mind, but it was no longer the sinister memory of that morning. Instead, she recalled his blue-grey eyes gazing at her in that curious manner, the _trust_ emanating from them as he looked at her. He'd come into her life only a few days ago, and despite what had taken place earlier that day…

God, what she would give to have _him_ be the one holding her like this.

_Should we hug now?_

_I…I might hurt you._

Bucky…

"You okay?"

Interrupted by Stark's gentle inquiry, Kim released a shuddering breath. "I didn't want to believe it, but…" She trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that, and shrugged lamely.

"Kind of hard to deny when old photos from the U.S. War Department are staring you right in the face."

Yes, she thought, remembering some of those very images from HYDRA's files. "Grandma has some of those pictures at home," she whispered.

"I wouldn't be surprised." He placed his chin atop her head. "It's not what I wanted for you, but I know you're strong enough to handle the truth. You're strong enough to handle anything, kiddo."

Damn, it felt good to hear him say that, and her arms tightened even more around him. "I'm glad you're here," she said sincerely.

"Who wouldn't be?"

He'd kept it subtle, but that smooth cockiness in his voice was as familiar as the way he hugged her, and she pulled back to look at him with a smile. "You just couldn't resist, could you?"

He cocked his head with a playful glint in his eye. "Got you to smile, didn't it? I always have to get at least one good smile out of you before we get started." Then he frowned. "Hey, what happened here?"

She blinked, confused. "What?"

His hand carefully brushed over the bottom of her right jaw. "Got a bit of a bruise there. And here," he touched her throat, and she was surprised to feel a mild soreness. "You do something to hurt yourself?"

She held her breath, forcing herself to stay calm as she brought a hand to the spot he'd identified on her neck. Right where Bucky's bionic arm had pressed a knife against her skin. Shit…She didn't even realize they were marks when she'd looked in the mirror, but he'd been sharp-eyed enough to notice. Thank goodness her shirt sleeves were long enough to cover the fading bruises on her arms.

"You take a fall during a run or something?" He asked.

Thinking quickly, she gave her head a shake, gently moving his hand away. "No, it's...that would be the stick."

He gave her a look. "Come again?"

"Last night, you know, when I was out testing the kick-back issue? I'm not able to land on my feet when I do it, and the last storm that blew through knocked a lot of large sticks off our trees—"

"Ah, and so you...?"

"Were lucky enough to find one of them when I landed," she finished for him, amazed that her fib sounded convincing even to her own ears.

"Ouch," he remarked, "at least it didn't break the skin. Look at you: battle scars already, and you've only had this model for two months. We'll have to see if we can figure out how to control this new quirk that you've discovered."

A wave of relief washed through her as she disengaged from his embrace, only to be pulled back to him when he draped an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, and here," he said, fishing his iPhone out of his pocket, "I've got a special message for you from Steve."

Her ears perked at that. "From Steve? Is he okay?"

"Don't worry; he's just fine. But there's something he wants you to see, and who better to entrust with the delivery of a special message than me?" He flicked his thumb across the screen, then showed it to Kim. On display was an Internet meme of a smiling Steve with the caption, _"Who cares about becoming Miss America when you could be Mrs. America?"_

"Oh _God_ ," she groaned, throwing a hand over her face. Yes, he'd be keeping the jokes to a minimum, but to cut them out entirely? Never. "'A message from Steve,'" she mocked. "You dink."

Stark smiled triumphantly. "There we go; that's more like the Kim I know," he chuckled, patting the examination table next to them.

Taking the non-verbal cue, Kim hoisted herself onto the blue-padded table, mildly annoyed by the incessant crinkling of the sanitary paper beneath her. "Tony, you're, like, one of the busiest people I know. How is it you find time to find crap like that online?"

"Call it a special skill that few are privy to."

"You make JARVIS do it?"

He feigned injury as he pocketed his phone. "Oh, now that just plain hurts." But then he gave an approving smirk. "Not bad, though, kiddo. Response time's getting better and better each time I see you."

"Well, I have been learning from the best: the Obi-Wan Kenobi of smart-assery."

"And a Jedi-master reference!" He beamed proudly. "Even better! Sounds like I _have_ taught you well these past few years." Then his eyes softened in a way that only she was allowed to see. "I imagine the last couple of days have been hell on you, and I had to take your mind off it somehow. Humor just happens to be my go-to in order to accomplish that."

She smiled at him gratefully. "You have perfect timing."

He went back to his laptop. "Perfect is the ultimate descriptor for this Jedi, my dear."

She gave a quiet laugh. "You think Steve's seen that shot of himself yet?"

"Hard to say, but with everything he's missed since his personal ice-age, I doubt he spends much time Googling images of himself." A pause, then he grinned. "I'm sure you've secretly had similar thoughts about him every once in a while, though."

"Tony!" She groaned again. No matter how many times she reiterated that she viewed Steve as a brother and not a crush, it didn't stop Stark from giving her occasional grief about it. "That's still creepy!"

"Come on, you telling me you haven't thought about him at least—"

"No," she stated firmly.

"Not even with his shirt off—"

" _No!"_

That teasing grin remained. "Good. No one your age should be interested in such an old man, anyway. And let's face it: he _is_ an old man."

"He's older than you, so doesn't that technically make him your elder?"

"Oh, nice try, Padawan, but you'll never hear me refer to him as my elder. Besides, the guy is more than 'elder.' By human standards, he's more like…'antique.'"

Kim rolled her eyes with a smile, feeling her heart lighten at the humor he exhibited. Even if only for now. Soon after, the two of them slipped into a comfortable silence, and she waited patiently while he continued working at his laptop. The translucent screen allowed her to see through the back of it, and she could see him entering another sequence into the program.

Without looking up, he asked, "Rebecca was comfortable this morning?"

She liked that he used her grandmother's first name. She also liked that his inquires about her health were so specific, unlike the question of _How's your grandma doing?_ That one yielded a broad range of answers, most of them painful. "Seemed to be. She gave me a quick peak before I left."

"Good. Still a sharp ol' broad, even if she's not speaking out loud."

She smiled weakly. "Were you already in D.C.," she asked, glancing absently at the framed Monet posters on the adjacent wall, "or did you come all the way out here from Malibu?"

His gaze was still on his work. "With the million-and-one questions undoubtedly running through your mind, I'm sure not a single one of them has any real interest in my travel arrangements." He tapped a few more keys, then scanned the sequence that came on-screen. "How warm am I on that one?"

Quite warm, she thought. "You want your prize now, or would you prefer to have me wrap it up with a pretty pink bow first?"

"Make it a red bow instead of pink, and I'll be satisfied."

"To match the suit?"

He smirked. "You catch on quick. To answer your question, though, _Stark_ _Tower's_ undergoing some further renovations before it's unveiled as _Avengers Tower_ , and I was in New York this weekend to oversee how things are progressing. It wasn't much of a stretch to come here after reading your update." He detached the laptop screen from its keyboard so he could use it as a tablet, and crossed over to where she sat. "Diagnostic looks good; no discernible defects with your internal circuitry, no unusual readings. Has anything felt out of whack to you? Anything different when you walk?"

"No."

"How about when you run?"

She shook her head.

"Mm-hmm." He nudged her left knee. "Scooch, kiddo."

She obliged and made room for him as he took a seat next to her, that thin paper crinkling yet again.

He pressed a corner of the tablet, activating an x-ray mode as he came close and held it close to her lower back. "Implant's functioning properly," he reported after several seconds, "doesn't look like it's shifted out of place or deteriorated since your last scan. You able to feel it when you move?"

"No."

"Hmm," he commented, though committed no real emotion to it. After a few more routine questions, he set the tablet aside and held out his hands. Kim knew the drill: pulling up the fabric of her gym shorts, she exposed her prosthetic up to her thigh and simultaneously depressed the small indentations on either side. The appendage disengaged from the stump of her leg with a soft _pfffft!_ of sound. Surprisingly, it was not a heavy piece, and she easily handed it over to Stark. His hands ran over the prosthetic from top to bottom, careful eyes examining the metal surface thoroughly, searching for any signs of external damage or abnormalities.

"Everything appears to be functioning normally, but I probably won't be able to detect anything unusual until I get some readings during your workout."

"What are your thoughts on the kick-back I've been getting?" She asked, removing the black silicone sleeve covering her stump and rubbing a hand over the scarred skin. "Any idea what's going on?"

"Can you describe the sensation for me?"

"Oh yeah. It's like getting bounced on one of those big trampolines," she indicated with her hands. "If I stomp down hard enough, I end up flying backwards uncontrollably. It's not a huge distance or anything, but not knowing where I'm going to land can be a little scary."

"But it only happens when you're stomping down, right? Not while you're running?"

"Right."

"Hmm. Well, while I don't have any concrete explanations, there's a chance that the prosthetic's circuitry has a stronger kinesthetic connection than I originally thought. It's also possible that said connection was made stronger because of increases in your muscle tone over the past few weeks, which could result in imbalances of energy transfer when you make certain movements. That's all hypothetical, of course, but today, we'll focus on determining whether or not it's a valid assumption."

A few years ago, such jargon would have left her head spinning, but she'd gotten to a point where she understood the gist of most of his musings.

"Once your basic workout is done," he continued, "I'll have you demonstrate what it is you're experiencing while I run a second KAM diagnostic to check for any discrepancies in your physical activity levels. Also, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some video footage of this session for reference."

She nodded, unbothered by the request. He typically took video whenever she tested out his new models, which she could use when she updated her blog.

Reaching into the black bag that was already beside him—courtesy of Sammy—he retrieved a narrow metal tool that was no bigger than a pencil, and proceeded to insert the flat end into one of the titanium grooves.

When Stark spoke again, there was a noticeable shift in his demeanor. "Does Steve know about the research you've been doing the past few days?"

Picking up on his tone, she reminded herself one last time to take care with what she disclosed to him. "He knows."

His eyes remained focused on his work. "Does he, now."

She realized it was not stated as a question. "I left your name out of it."

He nodded. "Glad to hear it. Last thing I need is an unwarranted scolding from Grandpa Rogers."

She disregarded that last jab at Steve, leaning forward to rest her hands on the table's edge. "How long have you known?"

"That Bucky Barnes is alive? About as long as Steve has, give or take a few days," he retrieved a second tool from his bag and kept on tinkering. "Didn't take long after the leaks to find information linking some of HYDRA's…'activities' to my parents." His face betrayed no emotion as he removed her right shoe from the metal foot and inspected the rounded toe. "A few more hours of hacking into the encrypted files, and I managed to find a link between this Winter Soldier and a certain young lady I happen to know."

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, his voice had taken on that same protective quality that Steve's exhibited from time to time. "Steve asked you not to tell me, didn't he?"

"He did, and, as rarely as it happens, I agreed with his reasoning. As you know, there's plenty he and I don't see eye-to-eye on," he stopped fiddling with the prosthetic to look at her, "but when it comes to your health, safety, and welfare, it goes without saying that we only have your best interests at heart, kiddo.

"But we also know you're smart, Kim. It would've been impossible to withhold this information from you forever, and I sure as hell wasn't going to lie when you came to me with what you knew. We established a long time ago that if you ever ask me a question, I will always give you a straight answer, even if it's not necessarily what you want to hear." He arched an eyebrow at her. "I would expect no less from you in any given situation."

Her gaze never left his. "You know I would be, Tony."

Seemingly appeased, Stark dug into another groove of the prosthetic. "That's all I ask."

Kim ignored the small pang of guilt that was trying to dig into her chest. Stark was the second friend she was lying to this week, but she refused to blow Bucky's cover, not when the man was only beginning to piece together the fragmented remains of his altered mind. She couldn't begin to fathom the internal torment he must have been going through, and he needed time. She was the only person who could offer that to him, the only person he could trust. If that meant not being completely straightforward with her friends…

Then so be it, her mind whispered.

"The question now," Stark said, recapturing her attention, "is what do you plan to do with all of your newfound knowledge?"

She casually half-shrugged. "Keep adding to it by doing more research on HYDRA, I guess. There's still a lot of information in those files that I haven't gone through yet, and it's pretty much all I can do at this point."

"Can you tell me what it is you're looking for?"

She shook her head. "Anything that I think might be useful. Strengths, weaknesses, former HYDRA bases, members that are still active—"

"Watch it on that one," he warned.

"Just looking them up," she assured. "Maybe I can find something that would be helpful to Steve while he's out searching for clues."

"And Barnes? What do you plan to do with everything you now know about him?"

She knew what he was alluding to. "Relax, Tony. I'm not going to go looking for him. I don't need to get myself into that kind of trouble." Again, not exactly a lie if Bucky was the one seeking her… "I already promised Steve the same thing, so you don't have to worry about me doing something that stupid."

He looked at her then. "Tell me something: if you hadn't made that promise to Steve to begin with, would you have gone looking for him by yourself?"

She looked at him sharply, but found herself unable to immediately answer him. It was a good question. What _would_ she have done if Bucky hadn't come to her in the first place? Would she have ever discovered that he was alive? Would she have randomly stumbled across a photograph of him and been able to make the connection between him and the Winter Soldier?

Would she have had the courage to go after an ex-HYRDA agent by herself, without Steve or Stark to defend her? The logical side of her mind screamed _no_ at such insanity, but…at the same time…

"Kim," Stark pressed.

She gritted her teeth momentarily, knowing he'd continue to press like that unless she gave him an answer. "I would have _wanted_ to look for him." Hearing herself admit it out loud was not as much of a shock to her ears as perhaps it should have been, but it was true. I really _would_ have wanted to find him, no matter how stupid it might have been, she realized. Even if danger was involved, she would have considered taking it upon herself to find the good man that HYDRA had so meticulously destroyed.

She heard him sigh beside her. "The fact you might have even entertained the idea of going after him sets me on edge, but I'm glad that you sought my help before making any rash decisions. We may have been working together for the past few years, but you're hardly just a mascot for this organization, so don't tell me not to worry about you, Kim. If didn't care, I wouldn't bother saying anything to you at all."

Amazing. This man had just expressed more concern for her in those few sentences than Aunt Laura had expressed for her in almost four years, and she felt her heart twist at the notion. "I just…thought that learning as much as I can about HYDRA might be a good way to protect myself. Even Steve thought it was a good idea when I brought it up to him."

"Knowing your enemy is a good strategy," he agreed, pulling a larger, tube-like gizmo from his bag, "but be careful of how deeply you delve inside their twisted minds. You'll run into things that no amount of shock treatment will ever be able to erase from your memory."

She averted her gaze as something tightened painfully in her chest, her fingers digging firmly into the table's padded edge. Stark hadn't meant any harm, but she'd been unprepared for how much his statement actually bothered her, for how much it served to remind her of—

_Subject still uncooperative, increased voltage to 250. Submission achieved._

Her nostrils flared briefly at the memory of what she'd read. God damn you, HYDRA—

She snapped her head back around when something cool bumped against her arm, and she realized Stark was offering her the cylindrical tool. "You remember how to do this?"

She blinked. "Oh. Yeah, I do," she said, taking it from him.

"Good," he handed the prosthetic to her as well. "Show me."

Repositioning the appendage across her lap, Kim uncapped the tool—a variation of a soldering iron—and touched it to the back of the knee, resulting in a few tiny sparks. In a well-practiced manner, Kim carefully ran the device across the length of one groove in the metal, which would help the prosthetic maintain its flexibility at the joints.

"Good," Stark praised. "Hands are steady, that's really good. You might have some engineering blood in you after all if you've picked up on it that quickly."

She didn't feel the need to reply. When he gave her this leg back in June, Stark began teaching her these skills so she could care for it in his absence. So, in a way, complimenting her was like complimenting himself. Blowing over a spot to cool it, she ran her fingertip across the shiny surface, making sure it felt as smooth as possible. When she was satisfied, she moved on to the next groove, making sure to work each section of the joint.

As she worked, she subconsciously memorized the details of the prosthetic all over again: the shape that was nearly identical to the leg she'd lost; the metal at the shin and calf that was shiny and smooth; that same smoothness interrupted by the series of intricate grooves at the knee and ankle joints, allowing natural movement to take place. Even though she'd been with Stark through much of the construction process, she remembered her initial fascination when presented with the new limb. How elated she was to think of the level of normalcy that this one could provide for her. A chance to be whole again—

But after a while, her movements gradually slowed, came to a halt altogether. Staring down at the metal appendage, she was unaware when her wrist rotated a few degrees, pulling the tip of the soldering iron away from its surface.

"Amazing how you can be sitting this close and yet feel like you're miles away at the same time," Stark observed, cutting through her contemplative state. "Whatever's on your mind, Kim, let's hear it."

Shades of Steve, she thought, releasing a breath through her nostrils. "Steve thinks I should be afraid of Bucky," she recapped the tool and set it aside, "and I get where he's coming from when he says that, but what happens if he ever finds out about his family?" She paused. "About _our_ family. What happens if he finds out who I am and comes looking for me?"

"You can sure as shit bet that we'll do anything and everything to protect you and your family if we feel there's any threat to you," there was no mistaking the seriousness in his voice. "If there's any shred of decency left in the man whatsoever, though, he'll stay as far away from you as possible."

Definitely not how things turned out, she thought dryly. "You really think he poses that much of a threat now? Even after what happened between him and Steve?"

"I'm afraid he may be even _more_ of a threat after what's happened with Steve."

Her brow furrowed. "How do you figure?"

"Let's face it: the guy was incredibly unstable to begin with, and his interludes with Steve may have no doubt amplified his mental stress. That makes him a danger to anyone who comes in contact with him, friend or foe." He shook his head. "I realize Steve's trying to find him in the hopes of somehow restoring his memory, but it's hard to say if that will be possible, given the number of years he's been cognitively manipulated by HYDRA's scientists. They scrambled him up pretty badly, and that's not going to reverse itself anytime—"

"But he _remembered_ ," she interrupted, causing Stark to raise his dark brows at her. She covered by quickly adding, "Steve told me that Bucky remembered something that day on the Helicarrier, when they were fighting and Bucky—"

"Trust me; Steve already relayed the details of his encounters with Barnes in D.C."

She stared at him for a long moment, refusing to be discouraged by his skeptical tone. "He remembered," she repeated slowly. Quietly. Much like her last conversation with Steve. "Bucky was ready to kill him that day, but Steve said something that was strong enough to break through to him. He _stopped,_ Tony. He was going to kill Steve, but didn't."

His eyes narrowed at her slightly. "You know, you're awfully quick to defend a man who's been dead to you until recently."

She felt her own eyes harden in response, teeth unclenching before she spoke. "Regardless of what he's done, that doesn't change the fact that he's still my uncle, Tony, and I can't believe he's completely evil if he defied a kill order from HYDRA."

"You'd be wise to re-think your stance on this subject, Kim. He might have been your uncle once, but he's not anymore. He became something else entirely the day he fell from that train in forty-four."

"How can you say that?" She objected without really thinking, but it was too late to take it back now. "You saw HYDRA's files; you know exactly what they did to him! He didn't understand that he was fighting for the wrong people. How could he?"

Something in his expression darkened, which spoke volumes all on its own. "You can argue this all you want with me, Kim, but it doesn't change the fact that my parents died at his hands. How would you expect me to feel about him?"

She could only stare at him, her mind recalling the look of sheer regret in Bucky's eyes after he'd regained control of himself that morning. The deep, undeniable shame…Unable to look at him any longer, she sighed and let her eyes drift down to the blue-carpeted floor below.

"I know what it is you're getting at," he said, "and maybe to a degree, you're right. But I can't force you to see other things from my perspective, kiddo. I've spent years thinking my parents were victims of a freak accident, but come to find out that their deaths were actually orchestrated by HYDRA. Murdered, Kim. Through _Barnes'_ actions. That fact's not going to erase itself from my mind simply because I want to believe something else is true. It _is_ the truth, plain and simple."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, an offer of support. Or pity. She wasn't sure which. "I realize he's been a source of inspiration for you over the years, but you have to keep in mind that this is not the same man Rebecca and Steve once knew, and he's not the same man they told you all those stories about. This guy's been a cold-blooded HYDRA killer for decades—no pun intended—and it's hard to say what he could be capable of if triggered the wrong way."

 _No,_ her mind whispered adamantly. Bucky had fiercely denied being affiliated with HYDRA, and though she'd only been in his presence for a couple of days, she'd been a first-hand witness to the constant battle raging within him. His fight against the effects of their brainwashing, their manipulation. Their torture…

So to hear Stark say such a thing was like a punch to the gut. No, Kim repeated to herself, setting her prosthetic aside. No. With a deep sigh, she slid down from the table, feeling his hand slide away as she landed firmly on her left foot.

"Hey, where're you going?"

She didn't answer, just hopped over the nearest wall and grabbed the support railing that ran around the entire room.

"Come on, you're going to hurt yourself, kiddo."

No, she wasn't. She'd done this enough times to know her limitations, and was quite strong on this leg when she needed to be. This wasn't about her trying to be stubborn; this was about her needing her space for a moment, about needing get away before her emotions got the better of her. Her anger, her frustration, her sorrow.

Her fear for Bucky's well-being.

"I'm only telling you what you need to hear, Kim, and tearing off in a huff isn't going to change the facts of the situation. You of all people should be able to understand where it is that I'm coming from."

Three more hops and she reached the countertop on the opposite side of the room, bracing herself against its cool wooden surface in order to keep herself balanced. "Yeah. I do," she acknowledged, a slight tremor in her voice.

"Then my stance shouldn't come as any big surprise to you."

Of course it didn't. There were still days when she, too, had nothing but the darkest of thoughts for the one responsible for her parents' deaths, one who _killed_ them. Not murdered like the Starks, but ripped away from her just as cruelly and permanently. Yes, he deserved to be angry about that.

But to call Bucky nothing more than a savage killer now? The same man who'd saluted her dying grandmother—a woman he hardly remembered—in such a reverent manner?

She could feel the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. "And how many times did it take?"

"For what?"

"For their brainwashing to begin taking effect on him."

In the ensuing pause, she could detect him gearing up his counterargument. "Now listen, that—"

"How many?" She interjected firmly, wanting an answer. "What did those files say?"

It took a moment, but then he answered. "At least seven or eight cycles utilizing multiple methods."

Yes. She'd read the exact same thing during her research. "So he resisted," she said, staring hard at the counter. "He suffered brain damage from that fall, but he wasn't completely gone after that. He resisted HYDRA's attempts to control him at first, so some part of him must have been aware of who they really were. That's why it took so long for the brainwashing to work. He didn't want this; he tried to _fight_ them. Doesn't that count for something?"

Another pause. "Based on that alone, it may speak to the man he used to be."

She closed her eyes against the burning pain in her heart. "Do you see where _I'm_ coming from, then? Can you understand why I can't just say 'Bucky's a bad guy' and just leave it at that?" She bowed her head, not bothering to wipe away the pair of tears that squeezed free and rolled down her cheeks without her permission. "You're right: he has been dead all my life, but now I know what really happened to him. My uncle is alive; I have another _living_ relative out there, Tony. Do you realize how huge that is for me? _Do you?"_

"You know I do, Kim," he said sincerely.

She exhaled shakily, still trying to keep the emotions in check despite the traitorous tears. "Then I think it's only fair that _I_ decide whether or not he gets to be a part of my life," she angled her head towards him, "but you don't think he deserves that at all, do you?"

"With what he's become, absolutely not. Aside from you having knowledge of his existence, I don't think any affiliation with him is going to be healthy for you."

She expected that to be his response. "You know, it's almost funny to hear you say that," she licked her lips, "because the moment you modeled my leg after his arm is the moment you _made_ him a part of my life."

Behind her, Stark went completely silent, which only served to confirm the suspicions she'd had all week. She shifted the bulk of her weight onto her forearms. "I could see how similar they were from the first picture I saw of him. It's not a coincidence, Tony. You modeled my leg after Zola's design, didn't you?"

His silence ensued for a long moment. Then, "I figured you'd eventually make the connection after I sent you those files. Rebecca Proctor didn't raise you to be an idiot."

Another tear fell. "So that's a yes."

"It's a yes."

She thought that hearing him admit it would ease the tension in her chest, but it didn't. It actually made everything inside feel heavier, the weight of his verification making her shoulders sag as she continued to keep herself propped up against the counter.

The crinkling of paper signaled that he'd slid off the table, "But it's also a bit more complicated than that," Kim's ears detected the whooshing sound of the rolling chair as Stark brought it near, bumping it gently against the back of her knee, "so right now, I need you to sit down, and listen to what I have to say."

She turned her head just enough to see him from the corner of her eye, aware that his words had been a request, not a command. Sighing heavily, she eased herself back into the chair, admittedly grateful to have all of her weight suddenly taken off her leg. Moving to stand before her, Stark leaned against the counter, his tablet in one hand.

She wiped the tears from her face. "More visuals?"

"What can I say? I'm more of a 'show-me' than 'tell-me' kind of guy," he said, but didn't bother activating anything on the screen yet. Instead, he cupped a hand beneath her chin, making sure he looked her dead in the eye. Any trace of humor was gone from his face. Quite the rarity for him. "Before we go on, I want to make one thing perfectly clear to you: aside from the fact that what I've built you is a bionic prosthetic, I was _not_ trying to replicate Zola's procedure on you. The intention of my work is not to create another version of the Winter Soldier, but to help improve your quality of life. End of story."

His eyes were locked with hers the entire time, and hearing those words finally alleviated some of the lingering doubts in Kim's mind. No, he wouldn't be the kind of person who devoted his life to continuing HYDRA's schemes of world domination. Not after his family was killed by them. Pressing her lips together, she managed a nod for him.

Releasing her chin, he held up the tablet and pressed the screen at various points. "So Steve tells me you're quite the avid researcher of the Holocaust."

She was slightly taken aback. "Yeah, why?"

"Need to give you some background information," he glanced at her. "Tell me something: how much reading have you done on Nazi human experimentation?"

She froze, her stomach beginning that dreadful descent as the details from countless articles and history books came rushing back to her. "More than I thought I could take."

"But not enough to completely desensitize you, right?"

She shook her head. "Not by a long-shot."

"Then you'll probably want to prep your stomach for this."

She had a feeling she knew where this was going. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she watched through the screen as he tapped on a file folder, then handed the tablet to her. To her relief, it wasn't a graphic image, but a digital copy of what appeared to be someone's hand-written notes from long ago. She couldn't decipher the meaning behind them, as they were written in a foreign language, but _1939_ was clearly scrawled in the upper right hand corner of the document. What unnerved her, however, was that there was already something eerily familiar about the formation of those cursive letters.

"Look familiar at all?" Stark prompted.

She nodded immediately. "This was written by Zola." She looked at him. "What is this?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "If you swipe to the next page, you'll see the translations."

Doing so, she saw the same document, only this time it was surrounded by boxes of translations in the margins. Reading each one, she gradually felt the blood drain from her face. _Trial #4: Subject is male. Jew. 24 years of age. Weight: 66.68 kg. Height: 187.96 km…Injected 14 CCs of serum 2294 into subject. Immediate spasms visible in pectoris major and_ _SCM_. _Facial tissues began deterioration after 3 minutes, spread instantaneously to arms, hands, and torso. Resulting blood loss led to death 7 minutes later…Autopsy revealed evidence of massive disintegration of cardiovascular system. Outcome negative. Serum 2294 must go back to formula. Trial Status: Failure._

She swallowed, but it seemed to take her a full minute to do so. Deep down, she'd suspected that Zola had played a much bigger role in the Nazi's sick experiments than what she'd been led to believe, and now the proof was staring her right in the face. Trial #4. Just how many of these "trials" were there? Her voice was barely a whisper when she uttered, "Jesus."

"Not his style," he attempted to joke, though neither of them smiled. "Now, this is only going to get worse from here, kiddo: the next few images show the results of this so-called trial."

She took another breath and blew it out through her lips, silently grateful for his forewarning. Swiping to the next page, Kim's eyes widened in horror as her stomach lurched violently.

"Oh my… _God!_ " She turned away, clapping a hand over her mouth. It had only been the briefest of glances, but it was enough to burn the image into her mind forever. "Oh, God…" She'd seen gruesome photos of mass graves, skeletal forms of malnourished prisoners, the pain-stricken faces of children who'd been crudely sewn together in the hopes of creating Siamese twins.

But none of that could have prepared her for what she saw in _this_ black-and-white photograph. Oh God…oh God…Though her stomach continued to churn, she managed to push her revulsion aside and forced her eyes back to the screen, taking in the details of Zola's sadistic handiwork: a close-up of a dead man strapped to an exam table, whose flesh had melted almost completely away from his face…what _used_ to be his face, anyway. Liquefied tissue and dark blood dripped from him like candle wax, revealing white patches of the skull underneath. His eye sockets were dark and empty, but that was because the eyes themselves had oozed out onto the table with the rest of the gore. No hair, no lips. Nothing discernible about the man he once was except for his crooked teeth. What struck her most was the way those jaws were wrenched open, as if in an endless, silent scream. She could almost imagine such a scream inside her head…

"Now you have an idea of what's been keeping me up at night," Stark offered. "Don't puke, okay? I'm prone to the whole domino effect if someone gets sick in front of me, so if you think you're going to let loose, I need as much forewarning as you can give me so I can grab you that trashcan over there. No one will find it pretty if they walk in here and find a huge mess of—"

Kim raised a hand, cutting him off. As sickening as the image was, she knew she wasn't going to throw up. Instead, she just sat there and continued to stare, her initial horror gradually morphing into an entirely different emotion: a great, overwhelming sense of sorrow. It took a couple of tries before she managed to whisper, "His name."

"There was nothing indicating an identity in any of the notes."

Tears blurred her vision and fell from her eyes once more, but she made herself to look at the next few photos anyway. Four in all. Each one accurately displaying the horrid autopsy results Zola had described. Trial #4. Trial #4. Her lower lip quivered. This young man once had a name, a family, perhaps a wife and children. But for the rest of her life, Kim would only know him as Trial #4. One of Zola's failed experiments. Lost just like so many other victims of the Holocaust.

"It looks like," she bit back a sob, "like he was… _boiled_ from the inside-out."

"For lack of proper medical terminology, I'd say that's an apt description. Zola was renowned as a pioneer of genetic engineering back around the Depression era, but he found some veritable soul mates within the Nazi regime a few years later. It wasn't long before he was transferred to their science and research division, which we, of course, know and love as HYDRA," he said dryly. "I'm pretty sure you can venture a guess as to what it was he was trying to develop during those trials."

"Erskine's formula," she answered in a hushed voice.

He nodded. "When Steve successfully underwent the process to become Cap, the axis powers were scrambling to respond by replicating a super soldier serum of their own. In Erskine's absence, they were hoping Zola would be the one to crack that code."

Trying to create more versions of Steve…Tearing her eyes away from the tablet screen, she looked up at Stark with a tear-streaked face. "How many trials were there?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"Tony," she quietly pressed.

He gave a conceding look. "In total, eighty-seven."

She felt her eyes bulge, her stomach sinking even further. "Eighty-seven?"

"Yes."

She gaped at him disbelief. He'd done this to eighty-seven people? "You've seen them all?"

There was the barest hint of strain behind his eyes all of a sudden. "I have, and most of them didn't fare any better than this guy, but each time Zola restructured the serum, his trials gave way to different set of complications: dementia, cardiac arrest, severe brain damage, quadriplegia—"

"And they all died?"

His jaw seemed to tighten. "Not all of them died after undergoing the process, but those whose results were considered 'insufficient' were executed shortly after. He had a lot of time and plenty of Guinea pigs at his disposal before he got his hands on Barnes in 'forty-three."

If she wasn't already sitting down, her leg would have given out. One hand covered her mouth again as she sagged against the back of the chair, trying to stifle her sobs as she scrambled to make sense of it all. But that was the problem: there really was no good explanation for why he'd done this to so many innocent lives, which only served to leave her mind and heart reeling in anguish.

All those people. Jesus _Christ_ , she silently lamented.

And Bucky. He could have suffered a similar fate if his unit had been taken before 1943…Shutting her eyes, another pair of hot tears streaked down her face. Monster. That _monster_ , she clutched the tablet tightly in her other hand.

"No doubt you're wondering what all this has to do with your leg," he pulled the screen from her grasp, probably fearing that she'd crush it, "but I'm coming to that. There's no question that Zola had a brilliant mind, but the slimy little toad was never going to be a candidate for the Noble Peace Prize with HYDRA's credentials on his résumé." He tapped a few icons as he spoke. "After going through those files, though, even _I_ had to admit how incredible it was seeing how his knowledge of genetics crossed into the realm of bionic engineering. I only needed to glance at these photos of Barnes to know that the design of his arm was nothing short of a technological masterpiece."

He handed the device back to Kim, her eyes saddening at the familiar image of Bucky from long ago, strapped to an operating table during what was labeled Этап 5. _Phase 5_. The final procedure needed to fully attach that arm to his body. It was a picture she'd first come across on Saturday. She sniffed, suddenly wondering how much pain he'd endured during the entire process. "Why didn't you send the Nazi files when you sent me the information on HYDRA?"

"Your grandmother's dying, Kim," he said sympathetically. "The last thing I wanted to do was contribute to your heartache by bringing up a subject like this."

Although his words filled her with gratitude, she found she couldn't take her eyes off the screen. Absently, she stroked a thumb over the image of Bucky's newly attached arm. "That arm—it's not just a bionic prosthetic. Zola actually made it _part_ of him."

"You're right about that. Somehow, they managed to successfully and—as far as I can tell—permanently link it to his peripheral nervous system, which would explain why he has complete motor control over the device _._ That procedure must have taken a team of specially-trained surgeons to pull off, and modern medicine has a long way to go before becoming that sophisticated in their techniques."

Kim listened closely, grimly fascinated not only by this glimpse into Bucky's past, but also by the idea that such a procedure had been made possible. Permanently connecting a bionic limb to one's nervous system. Incredible. Risky, perhaps, but incredible nonetheless.

"It really is hands-down incredible," Stark went on, "but it's a damn shame Zola chose to turn it into something so grotesque. Still, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to build something significantly better than what HYDRA had intended it for, and I especially couldn't pass it up when you're the first person who could benefit from a project like this."

Something entered her line of vision, and she looked at the Kleenex box Stark was offering to her. She mumbled a thanks as she grabbed a tissue.

He set the box back on the opposite end of the counter while she wiped her eyes. "Zola's unethical practices with gene manipulation destroyed more lives than I can count, and in the process, he turned your uncle—who was once a good soldier—into a vicious weapon. I showed you this because I need you to understand that there is a vast difference between the kind of work he did, and what I'm trying to do now. I'm not out to ruin anyone's life, Kim, which is why I will never take that route with another human being. Ever." He leaned down to place a hand on her shoulder, making sure he had her full attention. "And that leg that you wear might have been inspired by Barnes' arm, but it's ultimately a design that came from _my_ mind, not Zola's. You are _not_ a continuation of his work."

An overwhelming sense of relief flooded her chest, and she pressed the tissue back to her eyes as her sobs became a little steadier. She'd needed to hear that. Badly. Needed to hear that what she wore was a product of _Stark Industries_ , and not HYDRA. Needed to be assured that Sammy wouldn't be in any immediate danger if he eventually received legs like this someday. Needed to know that Stark would rather drop dead than turn her into one of Zola's oddities, and that her future was not going to glorify his twisted legacy.

Not his work…not his work, she repeated to herself.

I'm not his work…but part of me is still like Bucky…

For a time, Stark—who'd grown accustomed to moments like this—remained quiet, giving her a chance to get it out of her system before speaking again. "You okay?"

I'm okay, she thought, eventually lifting her gaze back to his. "What Zola did…" Trailing off, she just shook her head. "I don't want that to happen ever again, Tony. To anyone."

She blinked when he brought his thumb to her cheek, wiping away one last tear she hadn't felt escape. "You and I are on the same page, Kim," he took back the tablet, laying it on the counter, "which is why I need to ask for your help."

There was no hesitation on her part. "What do you need me to do?"

Almost instantly, a glimmer of approval returned to his eyes. "Just like that, huh?"

"For all you've done for me? Yeah."

One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. "If I haven't told you lately, you're a good kid."

Mirroring his expression, Kim gave a small half-smile of her own.

"That being said, what I want you to do is put your blog on hiatus for the time being."

Her brow furrowed at his request. "Hiatus? Why?"

"So you can focus on doing some private research for _Stark Industries_."

Research? Now curious, she tilted her head. "On what?"

"The physical changes you encounter with this prosthetic as you increase the intensity of your workouts. But instead of sharing your results and experiences with _Iron Wings_ and the rest of the world, I want you reporting everything directly to me."

"But so many of them have been following that blog since I—"

He lifted a hand, silencing her. "I'm sure they'll understand you needing to take a break with Rebecca's condition. Trust me when I say this is in the best interests of everyone involved."

That protective edge had returned to his voice, causing her eyes to narrow in thought. "What are you thinking, Tony?"

He sighed very softly. "It's hard to say what'll occur as you continue to gain strength, but we need to see if certain abilities become amplified as a result," he rubbed at his goatee with one hand. "That bouncing you're experiencing could merely be a precursor of other things to come."

Her eyes never left his. "And if it is?"

"Then I'll be a lot more at ease knowing that we're the only ones with access to my designs, and any data we collect along the way," he shoved his hands into his pockets. "What you've stumbled upon could be a clue to unlocking some great potential with this piece, and I can't have that information falling into the wrong hands."

As that gradually sunk in, her eyes widened slightly. "You didn't…"

"No, not intentionally," he practically read her thoughts. "But if I somehow put you on the path to acquiring some sort of superhuman ability, then I'd rather it be you than anyone else."

Me? She stared at him incredulously. "Why?"

"Because I know you're not the kind of person who'd abuse power that's given to you."

"No," she automatically answered, in spite of the uncertainties currently swimming within her. "I wouldn't do that." And she meant it.

He bent closer to her, making it clear that he wanted her to listen. "The fact that you're Steve's friend had little to do with my decision to make you the recipient of my prototypes. It's because I trust you implicitly, Kim." A knock sounded at the door, and Stark went over to answer. "You obviously understand the value of power, but you also recognize the responsibility that goes along with it."

As Stark greeted and spoke to her PT, she released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. According to her past talks with Steve, Erskine had said something very similar to him the night before injected with the serum.

God, Steve…

Distantly, she heard Stark explain that they needed fifteen minutes to recalibrate her prosthetic before she was ready to begin her session, which was met with an agreeable response. Once he'd shut the door again, he crossed back over to the exam table to retrieve her metal leg.

"Another thing I want to point out," he came back to stand beside her, "is that you've been nothing short of selfless in your work for me since day one. I've seen the way you interact with people in the group; the way you encourage them; the way you work tirelessly with these models in order to expedite the process of getting them on the market. You clearly give more of a damn about others than you do about yourself."

Staring at the prosthetic, she very evenly stated, "I want them to have better lives."

"And that right there sums up why you're the best person for this task." Then he sighed somewhat reluctantly. "However, I ultimately don't want to pressure you into doing something you're not comfortable with, so…I'm going to give you a choice. We can remove the implant entirely, and have you go back to wearing your previous C-model until—"

"No," she answered quickly, and Stark cocked his head as he waited for her to go on. Gathering her thoughts, she said, "I don't want to do that."

"You don't?"

"No," she reached out to stroke one hand of the prosthetic's metallic surface. "Having this leg has already changed everything for me, Tony, and I'd rather help you learn more about it than lose it completely." She met his gaze once more. "And you said you want to help me control whatever's going on with it, right?"

"Right."

"Okay," she nodded. "So then teach me how to control it."

He was smiling softly before she'd even finished speaking. "So you're agreeable to working on the project with me?"

She took an extra moment to consider that. "Will you send me all the files on Zola's involvement with the Nazis?"

The request had him eyeing her carefully. "Is this out of morbid curiosity, or just further fascination with events pertaining to the Holocaust?"

Her voice was steady as she proclaimed, "I need to know everything that Zola did to those people. I just…" Need to know everything that led to what he eventually did to Bucky, she whispered to herself. "I need to see it for myself."

For a several seconds, he simply looked at her with what she could only describe as a kind of grim respect. "I'll send them to you later today, but on one condition: promise me that you'll wait until things calm down in your life before you even consider looking at those files."

You mean wait until after Grandma's gone, she thought sadly. Still, he was doing everything he could to soften that blow, and his request wasn't at all unreasonable. Nodding, she told him, "Okay."

"Promise," he insisted.

Yeah, you've been talking to Steve way more than you want to admit, she thought with a subtle half-smile. "Promise."

"Good. Shake on it, then? It's not official until we shake on it."

Her smile grew as she reached out to accept the hand he offered. "Satisfied?"

"That I am," he released her from his grasp. "And just so you know, you'll receive a raise in pay for your efforts."

At that, her eyes widened a little. "But you already pay me—"

He raised a hand. "Don't even think about arguing with me on this one. Your research is good, Kim—really good—and that's been translating into every single one of your posts. Your accounts are thorough, organized, thought-provoking, surprisingly fluid with your writing style; plus, as is evidentiary by last night's entry, you're not afraid to put yourself at risk by examining the potential flaws you discover with your prosthetics. The very least I can do is compensate you for all the work you've put into this organization."

She chewed on her lower lip. He'd been paying her to maintain the _Iron Wings_ blog the past few years, though she hardly felt worthy of the generous compensation he'd been providing her. "You do so much for Grandma and me, and I just…" She sighed heavily. "Aunt Laura's going to ask more questions abou—"

Again he cut her off. "One: it's none of her damn business," he said with a stern look, though it was hardly directed at her. "And two: you let me take care of matters with your aunt when the time comes. Rebecca and I have already made some very specific arrangements, and Laura and I are going to be sitting down to have a one-on-one chat at some point."

"What are you…" She started to ask, but Stark shook his head once.

"Don't worry about it, Kim. I'll take care of the things Rebecca has asked me to do."

She bowed her head, knowing he'd had the final word on the matter. There's no way I'm ever going to be able to thank you enough, she thought to him. "I owe you so much."

"You're providing me with vital information that I've been able to integrate into my current technological research," he knelt in front of her, placing the leg back against her stump. "You've done more than your fair share to earn it." Kim assisted him as he slipped the leg back into place, and with a short turn, they heard it lock back into place with a softer _pfft!_ "Groovy," he smirked.

She had to smile at his Ash Williams reference. "So, have you given this project a name already?"

"The project itself, no, but," he went to grab his tablet from the counter again, re-activating the screen, "I'm glad you asked anyway, because I finally settled on a moniker for this particular model."

"You have?"

"Indeed I have, and I'd like to see if it meets with your approval."

"Why? Is it something nerdy?"

His face gave away nothing as he tapped on a file, then handed her the screen. "See for yourself, kiddo."

On display was the familiar summary sheet for her prosthetic—which consisted of 3-D images and paragraphs of obscure data—and she glanced at the new title prominently displayed across the top of the page. What had once been simply referred to as _Prototype #5_ now had a new name:

_Really Elegant Bionic Equipment Can Conquer Anything_

She re-read it. Twice. A genuine smile slowly spreading across her lips as tears began welling in her eyes. She looked up at Stark, and a knowing look passed between them. That mnemonic device…He'd named this model REBECCA.

"Since I can actually see your teeth now," he said, "I take it you approve."

Kim released a small laugh, letting the tears just spill over as she looked up at him. "How could I not?"

"I thought it'd be a fitting tribute to the person who means the most to you," Stark explained.

That is was. Not that she didn't have incentive before, but now she had even more of a reason to figure out the intricacies of how this leg worked, and how to control what was occurring with it. From now on, wearing it would be a way of honoring her grandmother and keeping her near, and she refused to let her down. Ever. "Thank you," she said sincerely, wiping the tears away.

"It's been my pleasure, Kimbo. I mean that."

"And hey, it beats getting a tattoo," she remarked.

Stark chuckled. "Oh yeah, I'll bet Rebecca would be thrilled if you got yourself inked in her memory," he said sarcastically.

She smiled. It was a well-known fact that one thing Rebecca Proctor absolutely detested was tattoos, and whenever Kim entertained the idea of getting one, she'd get the tired old speech of _If God wanted you to have markings on your body, He'd have sent you here that way._ Okay, Grandma, she mentally replied out of habit. No; what Stark had done instead would be a better way to immortalize her.

"I think we've had enough time to ourselves in here." Standing to his full height once more, Stark held out a hand to her. "Now, what do you say we go out there and see what's making REBECCA tick, hmm?"


	9. The Last Dance

"Okay, now this next part should get a laugh out of you," Kim said, though didn't expect a response as she continued to watch the video playing on her laptop. Earlier in the day, she and Stark had spent the better part of two hours experimenting with and trying to find a cause behind her kick-back, and she was eager to show Rebecca what had taken place.

" _Okay,"_ Stark's voice clearly came through the speakers as he moved closer to where Kim stood, _"let's have you do that again so I can compare your readouts. You ready?"_

Her image briefly turned to question her physical therapist, who stood behind her, and he gave an acknowledging nod. _"Raring to go,"_ Kim replied, shifting from foot-to-foot.

" _Alright, you set, Mike?"_ Stark said to his designated cameraman, who gave an affirmative reply. Then he tapped on his tablet one last time, _"Go, Kim."_

Taking a breath, she lifted her right foot and stomped down hard, and then she was suddenly airborne, bounding in a slight arc in the opposite direction until she fell awkwardly to the gym mats beneath them, taking down her PT at the same time as he tried to catch her. Both released a muffled _Oof!_ as they tumbled to the floor.

" _Whoa, there!"_ Stark called out, half-laughing, but coming to check on them. _"You guys alright?"_

" _Yeah,"_ Kim said with an embarrassed smile. _"Sorry, Binx."_

Her PT, Taylor Binx—whom everyone called Binx—winced as he sat up, but then waved her off with a laugh. _"No permanent damage done."_

"Until the next time I fall on him, that is," Kim grinned, glancing at her grandmother, who simply stared straight ahead with half-open eyes. It was hard to say if she was actually focusing on the video, or if she was just looking off into the distance, and Kim's smile faded a bit as she turned her attention back to the screen.

She continued to watch the footage closely, jotting down a few notes every now and then into the journal she decided to keep for herself. Kim would make good on her word to keep a private blog for Stark, but she also wanted a hard copy of the information for when she began to do her own supplemental research. This way, she could not only keep tabs on what occurred with her prosthetic, but also cross-reference her results with any pertinent data she uncovered from Zola's past. Would there be enough documentation on Bucky's arm to give her some insight into how her own prosthetic functioned? Would there be enough parallels in the make-up of their bionic limbs to tell how much potential her leg possibly held? Would any information she came across eventually be of any use to her? Hard to say, but she knew she had to find that out for herself.

She watched as Stark had her try the same actions a few more times, all resulting in that familiar backward-bouncing arc and, at times, the subsequent take-down of poor Binx. Surprised cries and laughter came from those witnessing her session: Sammy; seventeen-year-old Carrie-Ann Mosely, her friend and fellow amputee from _Iron Wings_ , as well as others from their core group; even her surgeon, Dr. Bishop, had stopped by to observe her progress today, and could occasionally be seen in the background whenever the camera panned over to him.

" _Alright,"_ Stark said after another round of testing, _"let's try something a little different this time, shall we?"_

"And here's where it gets interesting," she muttered to herself, shifting so that she was leaning closer to the screen. Yes, this was where she needed to pay closer attention, her pen at the ready over the next blank page in her journal.

Stark was seen saying something quietly to her, then placed his hands on her shoulders to adjust her posture, and Kim could now see how they were leaning just slightly over her knees as she stood upright. He said something else to her, and when she gave an affirming nod, he backed away a few steps. _"Hang back for just a sec, Binx; I want to see what happens with this first. Go ahead and try it, Kim."_

Keeping her posture the way he'd positioned her, she stomped down with her right leg, and Kim remembered the gasp of surprise that had left her throat when she bounced _forward_ this time, not back. She was so caught off-guard by the change that when she landed, she fell hard onto her side, several feet away from her original spot.

" _Good! That's what I was hoping to see,"_ Stark called out, coming back to her. _"Well, not good if you're hurt, that is. You all right, kiddo?"_

As her recorded image accepted the hand he offered, Kim took a moment to write down the observations she'd made. She estimated that he'd set her up at an angle slightly steeper than ninety degrees, and the change in her center of gravity had most likely resulted in the ensuing directional shift of her arc.

That would certainly explain what happens next, she thought to herself, returning her attention to the screen.

Kim flexed both legs to show she was unhurt, and there appeared to be no damage done to the prosthetic. Then Stark was talking to her privately again, and her brow furrowed as she looked at him inquisitively. A few more words passed between them until Kim nodded in agreement, and Stark went over to speak quickly to Binx, who backed away several steps after receiving his instructions.

" _So let's just try it and see what happens,"_ he took a few steps back himself. _"Binx, you good?"_

" _Yeah, ready."_

" _Kimbo?"_

She watched herself drop down into a more crouched position, her eyes steady on Binx, who was now on the far end of the mat from her.

"Get ready for it, Gram," she said quietly.

" _Aaaand go!"_

Kim started running for a few strides, then brought her right foot down with such force that she practically _launched_ herself forward in an almost horizontal arc, her eyes wide with shock as she flew straight into an equally surprised Binx, colliding with him so hard that they collapsed in a twisted pile of limbs just beyond the mat's edge.

" _Whoa, geez!"_ Stark yelled, accompanied by the laughs and awed noises from the other witnesses as he ran over to them. " _Are you guys alright? Binx?"_

" _Still in one piece,"_ he flashed a pained grin as he eased Kim up.

" _Kim?"_

Although a little sore from how she'd landed, Kim looked up at him with a still stunned expression. _"I'm…yeah, I'm alright."_

" _Dang, Miss Proctor,"_ Sammy's voice rang loud and clear through the speakers as he came into view, _"you shot at him like a bullet!"_

She had to let out a laugh at that. _"Sure as heck felt like it,"_ she pushed herself the rest of the way to her feet.

" _That was so cool! It's, like, you were flying right at him! Way to take a hit, Binx!"_

She shook her head as she smiled, checking her prosthetic with Stark for any signs of damage. Amazingly, there were none. _"God, you built this thing to be strong."_

" _Good thing, too,_ " he ran his hand down the calf to make sure it felt smooth. _"Took a couple of hard falls, but it's nice to see that this particular alloy is holding up so well. Hey, Mike, zoom in on this for a sec, would you?"_

All the while, Kim was diligently taking notes. Following that last occurrence, Stark had decided to continue testing the "bullet technique" another time, and simply had her work on getting herself to bounce forward for the remainder of their session. After several more tries—and several more bruising falls—the act itself seemed to be getting easier to achieve, even if only slightly. Remembering the discussion she'd had with him afterwards, she thought about how pleased he'd been not only with the data readouts they'd collected, but also the idea that, ultimately, such a phenomenon could be _controlled_ with diligent practice. The next step would be to see if they could eventually get her to land without sustaining any serious injuries.

When she shifted in her seat again, she felt a mildly sore spot on her right hip, a not-so-subtle reminder of today's events. Hopefully, she'd be able to figure out some means of control before she really did hurt herself. Ignoring the pain, she continued with her writing, emphasizing how much of a role angles had played in manipulating her movements with this device. Rewinding the clip to about 7:52 on the time-tracker, she hit pause and took a moment to sketch a few pictures of her crouched appearance on-camera, being careful to differentiate the varying degrees of her posture. Perhaps this would become critical information for her later on, and perhaps she could figure some things out on her own if she kept thorough enough records.

As she finished her third sketch, she turned back to Rebecca. "So at least you got a chance to see what I was trying to explain to you. It's better to have me demonstrate it so you can get the full effect of what's going on. Hope it didn't freak you out to see me flying at Binx like that," she gave a half-smile at the silent woman as she closed her journal. "There's no way Tony will distribute this model as is, and I completely agree with him, so that means we have a lot of work ahead of us to try and figure out what's going on with it." A pause. "I'm really okay with that; we have to get this right if we're going to make it safe for everyone else to use, and..."

Her brow furrowed in thought, mulling over the conversations she'd had with Stark today, as well as the new information she'd learned about Zola's abhorrent practices. The idea that he'd inadvertently transformed her life completely hadn't escaped her mind, and so much of her couldn't help but dwell on what possibilities were going to come to light, both good and bad.

Heaving a sigh, she suddenly asked, "You want some music, Gram?" She opened the media player on her laptop and began searching for a song to play. "Might be nice to dance early tonight for a change, you know?"

Skimming through her multitude of iTune folders, she settled on one of her grandfather's favorite Frank Sinatra tunes, which she only had a digital copy of. As the smooth voice of Ol' Blue Eyes' filtered through the room, though, Kim made no move to get up and start dancing. Instead, she turned back to her grandmother, leaning upon the edge of the mattress so she could be as close to her as possible.

Pursing her lips, she suddenly found herself wanting to say over a thousand things to her, but had no idea where to even begin. "Bucky—" she choked back a gasp, not even realizing she was saying his name until she heard herself whisper it out loud. She bowed her head slightly, covering her bony hand with her own. No matter how much she wanted to protect Rebecca's heart, the need to talk to her about anything regarding Bucky was becoming more and more overwhelming with each day that passed. What would Rebecca have done if their roles were reversed, and _she_ was the one harboring secrets about their long-lost relatives from _her?_

Grandma, what would you have…?

Taking a moment to re-gather her thoughts, she raised her eyes to Rebecca once more. "I hope Zola's rotting in hell." She shook her head. "I know: don't potty my mouth like that, but it's how I feel, Gram. You don't…" She swallowed. "You don't know what almost happened to your brother when he was…" The images of Trial #4 came rushing back to her, and her voice dropped to a bare whisper. "I do." Her heart clenched at the thought of what could have been; at the fact that Colonel Philips had once written a condolence letter saying that Sergeant Barnes had been killed in action in 1943, which had turned out not to be true. Grandma still had that letter; Kim had read it so many times that she could recite it from memory. "We could have lost him so much sooner if—"

No, not _we_ , her mind challenged. _She_ could have lost him. Back then, there was no _we_. You didn't even exist back then. Don't be selfish enough to think you have as much of a vested interest in him as she once did…and still does…

She slowly closed her eyes. But I _do_ , a small voice inside her insisted, the pangs in her heart making her frown. I _do_ …

She couldn't bring herself to go into the graphic details of what she'd seen in Zola's work. At the very least, she'd spare her grandmother that horror. "You have no idea what horrible things he did," she said quietly. She'd only seen a mere sample of the cruelty he'd inflicted upon innocent people, but when she eventually gave herself a chance to look through those files for herself, she knew she would probably have nightmares that rivaled Stark's in intensity. "So many people," she breathed. Tony worried that this prosthetic model could be abused if utilized by the wrong people, and it didn't slip her mind as to why.

She was chewing on her lower lip again, mentally chastising herself for doing so in front of her grandmother. "I don't know where this is going to lead, but I'm not the wrong kind of people. And no matter happens along the way," her chin quivered as she gently squeezed her limp hand, "I promise that I won't disappoint you again. Ever." I promise, her heart echoed, sadly but assuredly.

Rebecca said nothing. All Kim saw was the steady rise and fall of her chest, which seemed a little more rapid than usual.

For several long seconds, she just stared at her grandmother, her ears hearing the melody floating on the air, but not really listening to the lyrics that accompanied. Then her eyes squeezed shut as she debated speaking the next thought that came to mind.

How much time…? She reminded herself, then, in as quiet a whisper as she could manage, she added, "And I'm not just talking about the suicide attempt." Part of her was grateful to have the music drowning out her words, though she wished she had the courage to do more than just—

The high-pitched _beep-beep-beep_ that suddenly pierced her ears nearly made her jump out of her seat, and as soon as Kim looked at Rebecca, she did jump up from her chair, standing so abruptly that she knocked it over backwards with a scraping thud.

Oh, God…Oh my God…

Her grandmother was convulsing uncontrollably upon the bed, her eyes rolling back into her head as her mouth fell open as broken gasps escaped her throat. The beeping of the heart monitor didn't stop, and Kim was so frozen with fear that she didn't even realize how badly she herself was trembling.

"Grandma… _Grandma?_ " She wheezed. "J… _"_ Tearing herself away from her bedside, Kim ran for the doorway and belted out, _"Jen!"_ Clutching at the doorframe, she pulled a breath into her lungs and cried out again. _"Jen!"_

Kim was still yelling her name as Jen bounded up the stairs, her concerned eyes locking with hers. "Grandma…she…" She shook her head mutely, pointing back at her convulsing form.

As Jen had neared the room, though, she was already hearing the heart monitor, and didn't bother asking questions as she immediately went over to Rebecca's side. "Easy, Rebecca," she soothed, bending to check her eyes, "hold on, sweetheart."

While Jen took her fidgeting wrist and pressed two fingers to her vein, Kim hugged herself tightly, trying to steady her shaking hands as she watched Jen checked her grandmother's vitals. Christ, what's happening? What's wrong with her? She wanted to ask so many questions, but in her terrified state, the ability to speak didn't exist in this moment. The incessant beeping of the monitor still filled her ears, and then her vision began to blur as unshed tears filled her eyes…

"Kim," she snapped to attention when Jen spoke. "Listen to me," she said with surprising calmness, and even though a few tears slid down her cheeks, Kim forced herself to listen. "I'm going to give you a number to call, and I want you to tell them that this is Jen Hayes, and then I'll give you my ID number when they ask for it…"

As Jen tended to Rebecca, Kim took out her iPhone and followed her instructions, pressing trembling fingers to the screen as she dialed the number and brought the receiver to her ear. It only rang twice before the dispatcher answered, and despite how shaky her voice was, she managed to recite the information Jen had given her.

* * *

The ambulance had arrived no more than ten minutes later. With her back against the wall, Kim stood just outside her grandmother's room, listening quietly as Jen and the other two Hospice EMTs assisted her in stabilizing the elder woman. Every now and then, she caught snippets of their conversation, and when she heard their conclusion as to what had occurred, her eyes went wide as her heart sank deeper and deeper into her stomach.

Oh my God, she slid down to the floor, tears running hotly down her face as she her mind reprocessed what they were saying. No, she'd heard them right the first time, and her shoulders started to heave as she breathed. That sense of dread had returned to her, more overwhelming than it had ever been before, and it was a feeling that terrified her straight to the core.

Oh God, Grandma, she thought despairingly as a sob escaped her lips. What did I do…?

She wasn't sure how or when her fingers had found her phone again, but her thumb had automatically hit a button for speed dial, and she sniffed audibly as she waited, resting her head in one hand while the phone rang dully in her ear.

By the third ring, Steve answered, his voice already full of concern. "You never call first unless it's urgent. What is it, Kim?"

She was sobbing into the phone at the utterance of his first word. Wave after wave of sorrow rushed through her, temporarily preventing her from forming any kind of response as the tears continued to flow.

"Kim," he repeated, slipping instantly into brother-mode as he listened to her, and so much of her suddenly wished he could sweep her into his arms and hold her tightly to him at that very moment.

"Steve—" She choked on another sob, coughing harshly.

"Is it Rebecca?"

Sucking in a gasping breath, she was finally able to hoarsely whisper, "Grandma had another stroke."


	10. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic physical descriptions following a stroke.

" _Can you say hi to Grandpa? Hmm? Can you wave at him?"_

Kim sat silently at the dining room table, her tired eyes watching the video playing on her laptop for the umpteenth time. A few years ago, she'd uploaded all of her grandfather's old home movies onto her hard drive, and every now and then, she felt the need to pull one up to reconnect with the family she'd lost, even if it only their digital likenesses she was seeing.

" _Wave to Grandpa, Kimmy Jean,"_ the image of a younger Rebecca Proctor coaxed with a smile, holding a chubby, two-year-old version of Kim in her arms as she made her small hand wave at the camera. _"Say hi. Say hi…"_

Tears were welling in her eyes again, but she managed to hold them back. For now, anyway. Kim had been far too drained both mentally and emotionally to do anything but stay home the next day, which was why there'd been no argument from her when Stark insisted she take some time off from therapy. He was adamant that he would not make her work with a broken heart, saying he could take the time to further analyze the readouts he'd gathered from Monday.

Her forefinger moved across the mousepad, clicking to rewind the video yet again. This one took place during a Fourth of July celebration at her grandparents' house in 1998, and seeing her grandmother's vibrant, smiling face on-screen made Kim's heart clench painfully. She missed seeing her like that. Missed it _so much._ Taking the recording back to one point in particular, she replayed the segment she'd been watching over and over again for the past hour.

" _John? John, come in here; you need to hear this."_ Rebecca smiled brightly as she hoisted Kim in her arms.

The camera, manned by her unseen grandfather, moved through the living room and into the hallway, bypassing some relatives and friends along the way. _"What is it, Becky?"_

She narrowed her eyes when he called her that, but still smiled. _"Listen to this. Kimmy,"_ she said gently, pointing to the picture of Bucky on the wall, _"who's that, Kimmy?"_ Kim's infant-form was sucking on two fingers, but staring very intently at the picture she was indicating. _"Who's that, huh?"_

Her younger-self was still staring with wide green eyes.

" _Don't be shy, sweetie. Who is that, huh? Who is that?"_

It took a great deal of coaxing, but then she pulled her fingers from her mouth as she started to mouth, _"Bu…Bu…"_

Rebecca was positively beaming with pride. _"That's it; you can say it. Who is that, Kimmy?"_

" _Bu…Bu…Bu-bby,"_ she finally managed to get out, then exclaimed, _"Bu-bby!"_

Behind the camera, her grandfather chuckled. _"Is she saying…?"_

"' _Bucky,'"_ Rebecca mouthed as she nodded, adoring her attempt to pronounce his name, despite her inability to form certain consonants. _"That's right: Uncle Bucky!"_

" _You finally got her saying it,"_ she could practically hear the smile in her grandfather's voice.

" _We've been practicing his name for a while now, haven't we, my smart girl? Haven't we?"_ She nuzzled her granddaughter sweetly.

The little girl gave a squealing laugh. " _Bu-bby!"_

" _That's right: Bucky,"_ Rebecca kept saying _. "Bu-cky."_

" _Bu-bby,"_ she repeated, reaching a hand out to the photo of the uniformed man. _"Bu-bby. Bu-bby…"_

Closing her eyes, she let her forehead fall into her left hand. Grandma…Less than twenty-four hours ago, Kim had been sharing something with her that had seemed so extraordinarily important at the time, but now…

Now none of it mattered. It just didn't.

_If it's important to you, then why wouldn't it be important to me?_

She heaved a great sigh, knowing that's exactly how her grandmother would have responded, regardless of her illness. The fact that Rebecca was going to die had been no great secret, and Kim had done everything she possibly could to prepare herself for the inevitable. She knew it was going to be difficult to let go when that time came, knew it would be best for her grandmother not to suffer, told herself every damn day that she had to be strong, both of them…but something about the events of last night had completely shattered her. Left her feeling numb. Another step closer to losing the most important person in her life…and to her devastation, she realized she really wasn't at all ready to let her go.

Christ, what was going to happen once she really _was_ gone? She thought, the fingers of her right hand curling upon the table—

—which caused her to look down when she felt her pinkie dip into the slight indentation underneath the maroon cloth. She stared. After Bucky's bionic hand had left that dent in the table, she'd made sure to cover it in order to avoid any questions from Jen, and so far, she hadn't noticed the damage.

But Kim would never be able to ignore it, just like she couldn't ignore the fact that Bucky's absence was truly causing her pain. She sniffed, absently tracing a finger around the edge of the dent through the cloth. Aside from the dagger, this was the only trace left of him in the house. There'd been no sign of him since yesterday morning—none at all—and that only added to the despair she felt over her grandmother.

Her eyes flicked back up to the laptop screen, jaw clenching as the child in the video continued to reach for Bucky's photograph. Over the years, she used to find it funny, shrugging off the idea that her baby-self actually recognized who this man was, and chalked it up to her simply playing a repetition game with her grandmother. But the way that child's eyes were so focused as she reached out to him...

" _Can you say hi to Grandpa? Hmm? Can you wave at him? Wave to Grandpa, Kimmy Jean. Say hi. Say hi…"_

Closing her eyes, she rubbed at her forehead. It wasn't just the footage of Rebecca that was affecting her so strongly; it was also the implied connection she had to her long-lost uncle at such an early age.

What if he never came back? What if she really was—

The incessant creaking of the old stairs jarred her out of thought, and she sighed to herself quietly as she paused the video, listening as the footsteps reached the first floor and drew nearer.

"I talked to Laura," Jen announced, appearing from the corner of Kim's eye. "The antibiotics have finally gotten her over the worst of her strep, so she'll be arriving sometime tomorrow. She's got a few things to take care of at home, but she'll be on her way after that."

No surprise there. Aunt Laura owned and managed two hair salons over in Virginia, and she preferred to have all her bases covered as far as delegating shifts and responsibilities before taking off for a few days. Lifting her head, Kim couldn't summon a smile, but gave her a grateful look. Leave it to Jen to be gracious enough to reach out to Laura Proctor with news regarding Rebecca's latest stroke. "Thanks." It was all she could think of to say, her voice sounding so strained to her own ears.

"Anytime," she shouldered her purse, then paused. "Listen, Rebecca's not going to be with us much longer, Kim, and I really hope you and your aunt will find some common ground to stand on. Not just for your grandmother's sake, but for yours, too. You're family; it'd be good for you to put aside your issues and start getting along."

Kim listened, releasing a slow, patient breath, recalling some similar statements from her counseling sessions with Dr. Lakewood. Always easier said than done with her, she thought. "I know," she said softly, then became quiet again.

Jen gave her a sympathetic look, coming over to place a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be okay. It won't be easy, but eventually, everything will be okay. You'll see."

Kim almost couldn't feel where her hand laid, the numbness preventing her from registering the sensation. It'll be okay…but will it really? She wondered.

"As much as I'd like to stay," Jen said, "I have to get going, hon."

Kim nodded. It was only a quarter past five, but the incident from last night had drastically changed Jen's schedule with them. It was only a matter of time now for Rebecca Proctor, and there was little else Hospice could do to improve her quality of life. That meant Jen would only be returning to help collect Rebecca's body after she passed.

"Rebecca's holding steady for now, but don't forget to give her a couple of those swabs every two hours to keep her hydrated."

Kim nodded.

"If you need me for _anything_ , though, you give me a call, okay?"

Though the gratitude could not overcome her sorrow, she gave a small smile, covering Jen's hand with her own. "For everything you've done, thank you."

Jen gaze her shoulder a squeeze. "You let yourself relax tonight, okay? You need your rest, too."

As she nodded, her iPhone buzzed on the table next to her, and she looked to see **Private Number** on the ID. Immediately, the ache in her heart intensified. "I need to take this," she said, picking up the phone.

"Sure thing," she removed her hand. "Take care, Kim."

As Jen made her way to the front door, Kim answered Steve's call. "Hi," she winced at how horribly her voice cracked.

"Hey, Kim. I needed to see how you were doing."

Her mouth fell open to speak, but then her eyes squeezed shut as a few more tears sprang free. She'd spent so long crying to him on the phone last night, and all the while, he'd just listened to her quietly as she sobbed and sputtered her incoherent woes to him. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sniffed quite audibly and sighed.

"Hey. I'm here, Kim. It's okay," he soothed, and it was almost as though he really _was_ there with her. "It's okay; I'm here."

She sniffed again, rubbing at her eyes. "Sorry," her voice wavered a bit.

"Don't be. I can't imagine what it must be like seeing this through your eyes."

Part of her was surprised to hear him say this. Steve was a soldier; he'd been through war with the Commandos, and battles with the Avengers. He'd witnessed more instances of death and the ugly side of humanity than she ever wanted to see in her own lifetime…and yet, here he was, sounding just as equally affected by the grief overtaking her heart. The heart of his best friend's great-niece.

"How is she, Kim?" He asked.

She rested her head in her hand again. "Not so good," her voice still cracked, and she cleared her throat.

"Can you tell me?"

She shook her head briefly. "She's just…It's like there's nothing there in her eyes anymore," a few more tears slipped down her cheeks. "She's just lying there like a vegetable, and I can't—I can't tell if her mind is working anymore, or if she's laying there feeling like she's trapped in that body, or…" She choked back a sob, biting down hard on her lip in hopes of distracting herself with the sharp stinging pain.

"I'm sorry, Kim," Steve said gently; sincerely. "I'm so sorry."

Giving herself a moment to calm down, she didn't bother to disguise the tremor in her voice when she told him, "I really wish you were here, Steve."

"So do I. I mean it."

I know, her mind whispered, remembering the last time she'd hugged him. It never ceased to amaze her how strong his arms were, and she never tired of the way he'd pick her up until her feet dangled several inches off the ground. What she would give to have him hug her like that now.

"Where's Laura? Did she make it out there yet?"

"Tomorrow," she brought her hand to rub at the back of her neck. "Jen called her for me; she's got a few things to take care of back home, but she'll be out here soon."

She could almost sense him nodding on the other end. "Good. She needs to be there with her mother."

"Yeah," Kim said quietly.

"But hey, if things start to get heavy between you two, I don't want you to hesitate to call me, okay? The last thing I want to hear about is her sending you down another shame spiral at a time like this. Even if I'm not there with you, I'll find a way to protect you, Kim."

She felt her chest burn at his words, not bothering to wipe away to next two tears that fell. "I miss you so much, Steve."

"Miss you, too, kiddo, but I'm here for you, in one way or another."

"I just…" The words evaded her. "When Grandma's gone, I'm just…I hate to…I don't want her to leave me alone, and I don't know what—"

"You're not going to be alone," he said adamantly. "Regardless of what happens, you will _always_ have me. No matter how much craziness I've got going on in my life, there's no way I'll ever let you feel like you're alone."

She closed her eyes, drawing in a long breath and sighing deeply. "At least saving the world's a good kind of crazy."

She heard the faintest huff of a laugh from him. "Saving the world means getting to protect you, too, Kim, and believe it or not, that gives me even greater incentive to stay on the Avengers team."

The slightest blush rose to her cheeks, though she was grateful for the momentary distraction. "I'm glad; that team wouldn't nearly be as strong without—"

Kim fell dead silent when her ears detected the scraping sound of the sliding door as it opened, and the same noise as it closed. She held her breath, listening as steady footsteps moved through the kitchen.

"Kim?" Steve's voice sounded so far way away all of a sudden. "Kim, you there?"

She exhaled shakily, turning her head as Bucky emerged from the kitchen, his large frame nearly blocking the entire doorway. She stared. Even beneath the baseball cap and denim jacket he donned—despite how hot it was outside—she still saw the same man who'd been in her house only yesterday morning. Still saw the fathomless shame, guilt, and sorrow in his gaze when he locked those grey-blue eyes with hers.

She stared. _He_ stared. It was all they seemed capable of, and it didn't even register when her iPhone started to slip from her hand.

"Kim?" Steve persisted. "Hellooo, Kim? Are you alright?"

The insistence in his voice caused her to blink a few times as she tightened her grip on the phone again. "Yeah," she practically wheezed, but then set her jaw. "Um…Steve? Can I call you back?"

A pause. "Yeah, sure. Take as much time as you need, Kim."

She didn't even bother saying goodbye as she ended the call, slowly setting the phone on the table as her eyes remained locked with Bucky's. Seeing him now was like seeing him at the Smithsonian all over again, when she'd been completely ignorant of who he really was. The shadow of his baseball cap hardly disguised the multitude of emotions playing across his face, and it pierced her heart to see it. No doubt they were the very same emotions churning within her own heart, and she had to tear her gaze away before she lost complete control of herself.

Breathe, she told herself, fighting hard to maintain her calm. With all the worrying she'd done for him over the past two days—especially in regards to his mental state—it wasn't so much a warm sense of relief flooding her heart, but one of burning, undeniable… _anger_. An emotion she'd dealt with numerous times in the past, and here she was being forced to relive it all over again.

Breathe, her mind kept repeating. Breathe…

"Thought you were gone for good," she finally said, closing her laptop.

"No," he exhaled the word so softly that she almost didn't hear him.

Her jaw clenched, but she still didn't look at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Why'd you come back?"

He seemed to hesitate. Then, "I can't leave you."

Her fingers dug into her bicep. "Sure as hell proved otherwise when you ran off."

A pause. "Kim, I—"

"You left, Bucky," she cut him off abruptly, then dropped her voice to a whisper, "you left."

A longer pause this time. Then, "Leaving you," there was a slight stammer in his words, "is not an option."

She closed her eyes, feeling two tears slip down her cheeks as she slowly shook her head. "But you did."

"No, I—" He seemed to choke on his next word, prompting her to finally look at him. He appeared to be struggling with what to say. "I…I almost hurt you—"

"You didn't. I was fine, Bucky; you could see that I was fine."

Another pause. "But I—"

"Threatened me with a knife. Yeah, I know; I was there, and yes, it was scary as hell," she cut in, ignoring the way her voice started to waver, "but you stopped when you realized it was me. You saw me and couldn't bring yourself to do it, could you?"

Silence.

" _Could you_?" She pressed, a little firmer this time.

His intense eyes never left hers as he simply stared, an indiscernible emotion now crossing his face. "I've killed before, Kim, and knowing what I almost did to yo—"

" _I know what you did, Bucky!"_ She practically screamed, slamming her fists down on the table as a scorching pain surged through her heart. For several seconds, she remained frozen in place, completely tense from her sudden outburst…but then felt herself begin to shake when she gave in to the quiet sobs that would no longer be denied.

When she did speak again, her voice was much softer, though broken by her sobs. "I know. I've done more than enough research to know what you're capable of." She shook her head, raising her eyes to his once again. "But _Jesus_ , Bucky, that was in your _past!_ Can't you give yourself a damn break?" Her cheeks were damp with dripping tears, but she could only keep her gaze locked with his while her shoulders heaved, and she fought to bring her breathing back to normal. "With everything I know," she nearly whispered, "do you see me running away from you?"

She saw something pass through his eyes then. A sadness; or guilt. Or some dawning realization. Whatever it was, he was looking at her raptly. "Something's happened," he said.

Kim bit down on her lip again, closing her eyes and covering her face with one hand.

"Tell me."

Leave it to him to realize there was something more to her outburst than just anger towards him. Taking a breath, she told him, "Grandma had another stroke last night." She looked at him, and her chest constricted at the stricken look that overcame his features. "Your sister came one step closer to dying, and you weren't even here."

His lips parted, and she could detect his shaky breaths. "Rebecca—"

"You were gone," she cut him off again. "You left me all alone after I—" She stopped herself there, clamping her mouth shut.

His brow furrowed uncertainly. "After you what?"

That she couldn't answer. Not now. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and the longer they looked at one another, the more she could tell that his own eyes were shimmering. "Enough people have already left me behind, or are going to leave me very soon." She slowly shook her head, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I didn't want you to leave me, too."

The way his eyes widened…and the tear that slipped down his own cheek…and the instant he took a step toward her, something inside Kim snapped, and she leaped up from her chair, rushing to round the farthest side of the table from him. She had to get away, had to leave before she completely broke down in front of him.

Get away, she told herself. Get away…

She didn't even see him move. As she made a beeline for the living room, his arm shot out and caught her, and Kim gasped sharply as he pulled her against his chest, his arms wrapping firmly around her to hold her in place. She stood there, frozen in shock, her mind completely reeling as Bucky continued to hold her to him. Holding her? He was…was he actually… _hugging_ her?

But then a great panic began to well within her. No, her mind shouted. _No!_ He can't do this; he's not ready to hug me! He can't! She struggled against his hold, but his arms were solid. Unyielding. No, Bucky! You can't! This is too much for you! Her hands pushed at his chest, and she could feel the way they were shaking against him; could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. Her fingers curled into claws, digging into the fabric of his jacket as her eyes squeezed shut. You can't…you can't…

When she felt his cheek press against the top of her head, her resolve completely crumbled as she buried her face against his shoulder and bawled. The tears; they wouldn't stop. Not this time. She'd cried often over the past several months, but nothing like this. Hard, wrenching, wailing sobs fell unrestrained from her mouth, and Bucky's arms tightened around her in response. She gasped and whimpered when his metal arm squeezed too tightly, and he automatically loosened his grip. Before he could pull away entirely, though, her hands clutched at his jacket and pulled him to her again as she just cried. Cried. Her broken heart needing this…from _him_. No matter how imperfect the situation was, all she knew was that she needed _him_.

Her uncle. Her family.

Tears soaked the denim underneath her eyes, but he didn't tell her to calm down, or to stop crying. He just held her, comforting her in the only way he knew how, and she detected the brief moment when he released a shuddering breath of his own. She felt his right move, coming to rest carefully, gently against the back of her neck.

"At ease, soldier," he whispered quietly.

Digging her fingers into his jacket again, Kim wept even harder against his shoulder.

* * *

It was hard to say how much time had passed while she cried in Bucky's arms, but he'd held onto her the entire time, even following her as she sagged to the floor when the strength in her legs finally gave out. His arms never let go, keeping her against him, his shoulder catching her tears as they fell. The instant he detected her fatigue, however, he'd carried her straight up to her bedroom, laying her gently atop the plush purple comforter. For the next hour or so, she drifted in and out of consciousness while Bucky kept vigil by her bedside, his right hand never letting go of hers. Every time her eyes closed, she'd open them again and see him watching her intently, his presence helping to ease her mind. Occasionally, she'd wake with a jolt, but then he'd squeeze her hand reassuringly, silently reminding her: _I'm here_.

And he really was. Thank God for that.

When she came to again sometime later, her hand no longer felt the warmth of his, but when she opened her eyes, she relaxed when she saw him on the other side of the room. It was obvious he was taking in his surroundings, studying the details that defined who she was, from the _Phantom of the Opera_ posters on the wall, to her high school diploma and framed photos hanging adjacent to it, to the collection of books she had displayed on the bookshelf.

Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, the glowing red numbers displayed 7:23PM. There was still enough light outside to keep her room illuminated, and she watched him silently, letting him take his time to examine her belongings. Selecting one of her books, Bucky examined its cover in his hands. She could see the well-worn binding from where she lay: _Catch-22_.

Taking a breath, she quietly rasped, "That one's my favorite."

Bucky turned at the sound of her voice, staring at her momentarily. "I remember."

Right. Her bio. "It's a satire on the army," she rubbed at one of her eyes. "Steve didn't care for it, but maybe you'd like it."

A pause. Then, "Why didn't he like it?"

"Thought it was disrespectful to the army," she said through a yawn. "Doesn't like it when he thinks someone's making fun of it." She sighed. "He can be so serious sometimes."

"But it appeals to you?"

"Makes me laugh," she affirmed.

"And you think I'd like it?" He asked, returning to the chair he'd pulled up from her desk.

She gave a half-shrug. "Doesn't hurt to give it a shot. Maybe we'll find out that you and I have similar senses of humor."

He glanced up at her, then back down at the book in his hands. "Maybe."

Kim stared at him a moment, glad that his face wasn't completely obscured by his baseball cap. Not this time, anyway. "Where do you go?" She asked, causing Bucky to look at her questioningly. "When you're not here, I mean. You say 'not far,' but…did you go anywhere else this time?"

For several seconds, he was silent, then he sighed, evident only in the bare rise and fall of his shoulders. "I went back to the museum."

"The Smithsonian?"

"Yes."

Of course. The Captain America exhibit was scheduled to be there until the end of summer. "To find more information about yourself?"

"No. By now, I've memorized any information they had on me there."

Her brow furrowed. "Then why go back?"

"I didn't expect to end up there, but," his right hand took hers once again, "I wanted to go back to the place where I first found you."

It was as though she'd been struck in the chest as he said those words. Propping herself up on her elbow, Kim's gaze never left his. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Because…?"

His eyes held hers. "Because ever since I met you…I've been able to think so much _clearer_ , and for once, I can remember the things that happen to me every day." She saw the barest shake of his head. "I don't want that to go away, so sometimes, I return to that place to remember what it was like to…to hear you speak for the first time. To see your face; your eyes. And Kim, you…" His lower lip quivered, one hand gesturing towards his face as unshed tears made his eyes shimmer. "You…have my chin."

Kim's closed her eyes against the searing warmth that was filling her heart. "So did Dad," she whispered.

"Jim."

Opening her eyes, she nodded, and he released another sigh, uttering something in Russian that she barely heard. Automatically, her hand tightened around his. "You can stay here, you know." He looked at her again, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "I mean it: I don't want you to feel like you have to run away. If you want, this can be your home."

She could see his brow twitch as he tilted his head. "You want me to stay?"

"Yes," she sat up a little further. "You, um…you could have the guest room at the end of the hall. It used to be Dad's room, and there's still a bunch of his old clothes in there that you could borrow; some of them might fit you." Maybe if she kept talking, if she kept giving him reasons to stay, he would. Sure, there could be some difficulty with Aunt Laura on the way, but… "You'd be safe here."

He lowered his gaze from hers. "I'm not safe anywhere."

God, the sadness in his voice...Placing her other hand atop their clasped ones, she told him, "I'll find a way to protect you."

He stared at her. "I swore to protect _you_ , Kim."

"Yeah, but what makes you think I won't do the same for you in return?" Something about her words had his eyes widening, and she could tell by the way he looked at her that she'd struck a chord with him. "I've kept the fact that you're here a secret from everyone so far, Bucky, and I'm not about to give you up for anything."

Those grey-blue eyes remained locked with hers, and Kim could have sworn she saw them shimmering in the gentle light. She'd meant it; whatever she could do to protect him in turn, she would do. He needed to know that.

"Speaking of which," she glanced over the edge of her bed, "hand me that bag, would you?" She pointed, and he retrieved her duffle bag from the floor. Rummaging through it, she pulled out the dagger she'd kept hidden in there, holding it out to him. "Thought you might want this back."

He was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowing. "You kept it with you."

Yes: she'd held onto the very weapon he'd threatened her with. "I didn't want Jen to find it," she said, bringing it back to turn it over carefully in her palms.

"Careful," he said tersely, her eyes lifting to his. "It's very sharp."

"I know: I nicked myself a little earlier," she showed him her bandaged forefinger, but before he could say anything, she quickly continued. "What kind of knife is this, anyway? What style?"

"Karambit."

"Hmm," she murmured at the unfamiliar term, sighing as she offered it to him again.

But instead of taking it, he simply covered her hand with his. "You keep it."

Me? She blinked. He wanted _her_ to keep it? "Why?"

"For protection. In case you need it."

Her eyes shifted to their joined hands, then back up to his face. "I don't think that's—"

"Please," he said, his tone serious, his fingers tightening their hold as they pressing the textured handle to her palm. "I'd feel better knowing you have it with you. Just in case."

He was imploring her now, and she didn't have the heart to refuse such a request. "But…I don't know how to even use a knife like this."

"I'll teach you."

She gaped at him, completely taken aback by his offer. "You will?"

"Yes."

For a long while, she mulled that over silently, staring at their joined hands as he kept the blade in her grasp, _insisting_ she keep it. So arming me will give him peace of mind, she thought. She didn't have to question why he was so adamant about this. HYDRA was out there in many forms, and he didn't want to take any chances on her safety. Was this the smartest idea in the world? Hard to say, but if she was going to wield this knife, she'd have to be able to do more than just scratch them with it. "You trust me with this."

"Yes."

She sighed softly, a small part of her still unconvinced. "It might take me a while to learn."

"I don't mind, Kim; I can teach you."

It was becoming more and more natural to hear him say her name, and even though there were still a multitude of emotions warring within her heart, she couldn't deny how much calmer she felt now that he was here. And if he was willing to make that kind of commitment to her… "Okay," she finally said, and he let her hand slide from his fingers. "You got the holster for it?"

Reaching beneath his jacket, he sought the holster on his utility belt, which he handed to her. "Thanks," Kim sheathed the blade and opened the drawer of her nightstand to stash it for the time being. As she did, Bucky's metal hand entered her line of vision, reaching for the framed photo on display next to her alarm clock. She watched him quietly. It was her favorite picture of her and Steve, and the change in his eyes was evident as he took in the image, no doubt focusing on the brightness of their smiling faces.

"When was this taken?" He asked.

"Last summer," she drew her knees up to her chest. "I was only joking when I told him to give me a piggyback ride, but…" She trailed off with a slight shrug, knowing he'd be able to fill-in-the-blank.

The longer he stared at the photo, though, the more his brow furrowed. "Steve…" He whispered.

Kim waited for him to go on.

A shuddering breath passed his lips. Then, "H-his mother's name…was S-Sarah."

She drew in a slow breath, keeping her excitement carefully restrained. "Yeah. She died a long time ago—"

"From tuberculosis."

She nodded, but he was still looking down at the picture, his metal thumb stroking over the edge of the silver frame. "We used to—we'd put…the couch cushions on the…on the floor whenever he stayed over."

For the first time since he'd come back to her, she smiled sadly at the memory he'd described. His childhood. He was getting glimpses from that long ago. "Yeah?" She encouraged him. "What else?"

His brow was furrowing again, his fingers grasping the frame as he tried desperately to hold onto whatever his mind had revealed to him—

"Bucky?"

He blinked rapidly, and she didn't miss the shimmer of tears in his eyes when he looked up at her again. "Rebecca," he rasped.

She winced at the painful clenching of her heart, that mere word bringing her crashing back to the harshness of reality. Back to the fact that her grandmother was in the adjacent room, inching ever closer to—

"Kim."

Looking up at him, she willed herself not to cry. Not now.

"Can you tell me what happened?" He paused. "Last night. What did you see?"

She, too, was quiet for a time, trying to think of how to even begin elaborating on what had taken place the previous night. Running a hand over her face, she finally whispered, "I thought she was going to die right then." Her lip quivered, the truth behind the words causing her chest to sting all over again.

"But she didn't."

She shook her head, shrugged. "She just…hung on somehow." She couldn't explain how Rebecca had once again managed to maintain her grasp on life, or why, for that matter. God, Grandma, what _are_ you clinging to? But at the same time, she hated herself for the thought. She wanted nothing more than to keep her grandmother here with her. For as long as she possibly could. To hell with the pain it caused her heart; nothing compared to what Rebecca had had to endure for the past several months…

"Rebecca's strong," Bucky said, and Kim looked at him, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. "She always was."

Another memory about his sister. As much as it pleased her to hear him expounding more on his forgotten past, she couldn't help but be saddened at the same time. "Was she?"

"In her own way…" His brow furrowed, but he squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a firm shake. "I know she was."

It's okay, Kim silently assured, though didn't know if she was trying to convey that to him, or herself.

But then he was looking at her again, and Kim was taken aback at the subtle determination she suddenly saw behind those grey-blue orbs. "Can I see her, Kim?"

* * *

Kim swallowed hard, bringing a hand to cover her trembling lips. It was bad enough having the first stroke render her grandmother incapable of speech, but this…

Bucky stood beside her as they both looked upon Rebecca Proctor's frail form. As cried out as she ought to be by now, Kim's eyes blurred with tears yet again as she stared at the elder woman's face. God, she _hated_ seeing her like this Hated how much paler she appeared since last night; hated the way her eyes had rolled back into her head so that all she could see were the whites; hated the fact that her mouth was involuntarily wrenched open, but she was still unable to utter a single word. It was like looking at a corpse, and yet there was still a spark of life left inside, evident in the intermittent heaving of her chest each time she drew in a harsh breath.

That's all she could do now. Lay there and breathe in, breathe out. No other sound or movement. No indication that she was aware of anything anymore.

Burning tears fell down Kim's cheeks, her vision momentarily clearing before the next wave hit her. Christ, Grandma…

Closing her eyes, she turned away from the sight and proceeded to bury her face against Bucky's shoulder, and he automatically wrapped his right arm around her in a one-armed embrace. Kim didn't over-think it; she just let it happen. Released her sorrows into the denim yet again, and there was no objection from Bucky whatsoever. Just a surprisingly warm comfort as his hand stroked over her hair, then settled at the base of her neck, holding her to him quietly. A few sobs tried to escape her throat, but the hand covering her lips prevented them from becoming anything more than a soft, gasping breath, and that combined with Rebecca's occasional intake of breath were the only sounds interrupting the quiet of the room.

Neither of them spoke. This wasn't the time for it.

Breathe, her mind whispered, though it was hard to say if she was telling that to herself or her grandmother.

 _At ease_ , Bucky's words echoed within her thoughts, making her lungs hitch slightly. His voice had been so soothing when he uttered that phrase, regardless of how high-strung her emotions were at the time. He'd been so damn _patient_ with her, his solid hold conveying so much more than she dared to believe was possible from the man.

At ease, she repeated to herself, and with each passing second, her breathing gradually returned to normal. Strange how calm his presence made her…and yet, it wasn't strange at all. Not to her.

She had to wonder, though, how much it affected him to see his sister like this. He hadn't said a single word since they entered her room, but the longer he held her, the more apparent the bare tremble in his chest became.

"Can she hear us?" He asked at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know," she pulled back from him, turning to glance at Rebecca with sad eyes. With a sigh, she said, "I don't know what she's aware of anymore."

Another long pause lingered between them while they watched Rebecca breathe, an oddly hypnotic sound in the thick quiet of the room.

"Kim."

She glanced up at Bucky, but his eyes were riveted on Rebecca. "I need a moment alone with her."

She blinked, not entirely sure how to respond to that, opening her mouth to say…hell, she didn't even know what to say to that. Alone? Would that be a wise thing to do at this point?

But then he locked steady eyes with her, his tone insistent when he said, "Please."

* * *

The amber glow of the setting sun was gradually darkening through the windows of the living room. Kim set her pen down and flexed the fingers of her right hand, popping a few knuckles in the process. Glancing up at the television screen, she watched as the Imperial troops stormed the Rebel base on Hoth, every line of the movie's dialogue memorized to the very second. _The Empire Strikes Back_. Her grandmother would have rolled her eyes if she'd known.

Kim sighed. It had been at least a half hour since she'd left Bucky alone with Rebecca, and so much of her wondered what might possibly be occurring upstairs between them. Was he actually talking to her? Sitting in silence? What were his intentions once Kim was no longer in their presence?

However, Kim wasn't about to encroach on their privacy, not after what she'd witnessed just before exiting the room: Bucky sitting in the chair beside his sister's bed, his attention solely on her as he removed his baseball cap. Yet another gesture of respect for Rebecca Proctor, and one that convinced Kim that no harm would come to her grandmother if Bucky was with her.

On that, she could trust him; she knew this without a second thought.

Her ears perked up when she finally heard footsteps descending the creaky stairs, and Kim set her journal on the arm of her green chair as Bucky entered the living room, his cap still clutched in his metal hand. Pausing in the doorway, he locked eyes with her, giving her a full-on view of just how grave his face was.

It didn't surprise her in the slightest. He looked exactly the way she felt inside. "Hey," she said softly.

He stared at her, then she saw his shoulders sag as he released a sigh. "Hey."

She pursed her lips together. Now was obviously not the time for discussion, and she picked up the remote from the coffee table. "Movie?" She inquired, motioning toward the television. "I can re-start it."

Glancing at the screen, his brows twitched together. "What is it?"

" _Empire Strikes Back_ ; next chapter in the _Star Wars_ saga."

He looked at her again. "There's more?"

It was amazing how those two words managed to break through the sorrow clouding her heart, and caused the corner of her mouth to twitch upward in the faintest of smiles. Nodding, she said, "Oh yeah."

He looked at the television again, then back at her, a new curiosity causing his eyes to shine. "Yes."

This time, she felt her smile touch both sides of her mouth. "Have a seat, then," she hit a few buttons on the remote to bring up the menu while Bucky sat on the couch. In the back of her mind, Kim was relieved that he'd chosen to sit on the side closest to her chair.

During the movie, Bucky's elbows rested on his knees, raptly watching the screen. Meanwhile, Kim still wrote in her research journal, recording—in as much detail as possible—all the memories that Bucky had conveyed to her thus far.


	11. Laura Proctor

The softness underneath her body confused Kim, who opened her eyes to the gentle morning light pouring in through her bedroom window.

Her bedroom? She lifted her head from her pillow. Sure enough, her nightstand clock read 7:24 a.m., and she was still donning her clothes from yesterday. The last thing she remembered was being down in the living room, watching her movie with…

Throwing off her comforter, Kim ignored the chill of the wooden floor beneath her bare foot, heading for the doorway with only one thought on her mind: where was Bucky? Making her way down the hall, she came to the last open door on the right—

—and came to an immediate halt. She released a quiet sigh of relief when she saw Bucky was fast asleep in the guest room, though she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness as she gazed upon him. Bucky wasn't sleeping in the bed, but down on the hard wood floor, the comforter from the bed pulled down on top of him.

Crossing her arms, she leaned against the doorframe and watched him silently. Evidently, it had been ages since the man had slept on something as soft as a mattress, something that many soldiers seemed to have in common. Even Steve and some of the _Iron Wings_ members had mentioned how long it took to get re-acclimated to their beds following lengthy deployments.

But she set her jaw against her heartache. Having him asleep here on the floor was better than seeing those photos of his forced slumber inside of a cryo-tube. Far better. From where she stood, she could see the crease lining his brow, but otherwise, he was resting peacefully. At least, she hoped it was peacefully. A small part of her wanted to come close and pull the comforter over his shoulder, but her rational side advised against it, not unless she wanted a repeat of yesterday. No; he was here, and she was content to let him lay there and rest for as long as he needed. Hopefully, he'd wake long before Aunt Laura arrived.

Reaching for the door knob, Kim slowly pulled the door closed, leaving it open just a crack before heading down the hall to Rebecca's room. After swabbing her grandmother's mouth and checking her catheter bag, she washed her hands and face in the bathroom, then made her way down the stairs, contemplating what to fix them for breakfast. Aunt Laura hadn't bothered to call or text, so she could only assume that she was still on her way. In the meantime, she could make sure to have something ready for Bucky when he woke up. Hard to say what he might like for breakfast, but he was certainly going to get something more substantial than Hot Pockets.

Eggs, she thought. Bacon and eggs. That'd be decent. And toast. Simple and cliché, but no doubt he and Steve used to eat like that all the time when they were kids. Perhaps it would be nostalgic for him, she actually gave a slight smirk. No milk, though; maybe orange juice instead. Yeah, that'd work. Hmm, I bet he eats a lot; probably need to stop by the grocery store later on to-

Rounding the banister at the bottom of the stairs, she stopped dead in her tracks as Aunt Laura closed the front door behind her, setting her suitcase on the floor. Kim's stomach plummeted. Oh God...

Laura Proctor lifted her eyes to Kim's, and even from a distance, she could see how bloodshot and tired they were. She'd once been a striking woman with her dark hair and chocolate-colored eyes, and a slender frame that often turned heads as she walked by. But years of mental and emotional stress had clearly taken their toll on her, which had only been amplified following the death of her younger brother. The woman looked as though she hadn't slept in days, and who could blame her? Her mother's health had been fading for the past several months, and on top of maintaining her businesses, she traveled from Virginia to Maryland almost every weekend to spend as much time with her as possible.

But the discovery of an extra occupant in this house was not going to go over well with her aunt, and Kim's mind scrambled to figure out how to keep her away from Bucky without arousing her suspicions. Opening her mouth to speak-

"How's Mom?" Aunt Laura turned her back as she spoke, hanging her blue parka on the coat rack.

The words failed Kim, who flinched internally at the question. I'm okay, Aunt Laura; thanks for asking. But she pushed her disappointment aside, knowing their focus needed to be on Rebecca for the time being. "Um...she..." She stammered, unable to think of what to say, so when Laura turned to her, she simply shook her head.

Laura's dark eyes seemed to shimmer, and before Kim could think of anything else to say, she was making her way toward the stairs.

A mild panic welled in Kim's throat, but she tried not to let it show. "Wait, aren't you hungry?" She tried to stall, but when Laura brushed her aside and climbed the steps, she raised her voice, hoping Bucky would hear. "Don't you want to eat first?"

"Later, Kim," was all she said, reaching the top of the stairs and making a beeline for Rebecca's room.

Kim followed, watching from the doorway as her aunt froze mid-step, a hand going to her mouth as she took in her mother's appearance, and Kim's heart clenched when Laura rushed over to Rebecca's side, collapsing upon her chest and sobbing quietly. Kim bowed her head. Soon, they'd both be without their mothers, a commonality she wished would bring them closer together, but...

Releasing a sigh, she quietly entered the room, retrieving the chair from the wall and bringing it to her grandmother's bedside in case Laura wanted to use it. Taking a few steps back, her eyes saddened as she took in the sight before her. It didn't matter how difficult their relationship was; right now, Laura was a child already mourning her mother, and Kim knew it was only going to get worse from here.

"I'll, um..." She started, "I'll make some breakfast. Just...come down if you want anything, okay?"

Laura said nothing, just kept her face buried against her mother's chest.

Pursing her lips, Kim turned on her heel and left the room, partially to give her time alone with Rebecca, but mostly because she had to get to Bucky before Laura stumbled upon him. Whether he wanted her to know about him or not remained to be seen, and Kim wanted him to be the one to make that choice.

Not running, but briskly walking down the hall, she pushed open the door of the guest room to find…to find that it was empty. Her heart sank. The comforter was still in a twisted pile on the floor, her eyes lifting to the open window just above his makeshift bed, seeing the sheer white curtains billowing softly on the breeze. Bucky had made his choice: despite her also being family, he didn't want to be found by Aunt Laura.

She sighed. Then that's his choice, she thought with resignation, entering the room and kneeling to touch the hem of the comforter. It was still warm. So he had heard them from downstairs; it had given him enough time to make his escape. As much as she hated admitting it to herself, it was probably for the best. While Laura was here, it would have been impossible to keep Bucky a secret forever.

Moving to the window, she pushed the curtains apart, taking in the view of the entire backyard with sad eyes, wondering how long it would be until she would see him again. But then, scanning the trees at the edge of the yard, her brow furrowed when she focused on...something. No, not something; someone. Just beyond a series of crisscrossed branches, she made out a shape. A familiar shape. Bracing her hands on the windowpane, she inched her face closer to the glass, and at the same time, Bucky moved within the branches, letting the sunlight touch his face for her to see. Her heart swelled beneath her chest. She saw him, he saw her. For the longest time, they gazed at one another, and from a distance, she could detect his silent message to her: _I'm still here_.

She pressed her palm to the cool glass. And I see you, her mind replied, an unexpected calmness descending upon her.

He slipped back into the trees, but at least she knew where she could find him. Giving a sigh of relief, Kim bent down to retrieve the comforter from the floor, intent on making the bed before Aunt Laura could see anything out of place.

After smoothing down the blankets, though, a thought occurred to her, prompting her to search the living room, her bedroom, and the guest room once again as thoroughly as possible. But it was all in vain: her research journal was nowhere to be found.

* * *

For the most part, Kim stayed out of Aunt Laura's way, knowing that the less interaction they had between them he better, reducing the potential for an unnecessary argument to erupt. Her grandmother didn't need that, regardless of whether or not she could still hear. She didn't need that kind negativity floating around her.

Laura hadn't bothered to come down for breakfast. This hardly surprised Kim, who scraped the last of the remaining eggs from the pan, but her actions slowed when her ears detected the faintest of musical notes trickling down from upstairs. Her movements halted altogether, angling her head in an attempt to hear more clearly. Not a record playing, but a voice. Singing. Aunt Laura singing softly to her grandmother. Kim sighed. Laura did have a lovely singing voice, but she so rarely sang for anyone these days that it broke her heart to hear it now. This would no doubt be her aunt's last visit before Rebecca passed, the last chance she'd ever have to sing for her mother...

Giving her head a shake, Kim finished scraping the leftovers into the tortilla she had waiting on the counter, ignoring the tears that were stinging behind her eyes.

Not long after she'd finished cleaning the kitchen, Kim slipped out the sliding back door, carrying a foil package and bottled water in one hand. Throwing a glance back at the house, she headed straight for the small woods. More than likely, her absence would go completely unnoticed by anyone in the house.

Ducking beneath the low-set branches of the two nearest trees, she carefully called out, "Bucky?"

"Here."

Snapping her head to the right, Kim followed the direction in which she'd heard his voice, crunching small sticks and fallen pinecones beneath her shoes along the way. These woods could be deceiving to those who weren't familiar with them, few realizing just how far they went back if they kept walking south. Eventually, these trees led to a small creek at the bottom of a hill, a place where she and Scotty used to go to dig for worms. Or even to just sling mud at each other. Man, the days when they would return to the house just covered in filth. It was no wonder their grandmother didn't hesitate to turn the hose on them…

It wasn't long before Bucky emerged from behind a small thicket, standing to his full height at her approach. She raised her eyebrows, realizing he was still donning his hat and denim jacket. "It's almost eighty degrees out here. Aren't you hot in that?"

His brow furrowed, glancing down at his attire, then back up at her, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. "A little."

She tilted her head slightly. "Some of Dad's old t-shirts might be more comfy for you. There're lots of them in that dresser up there."

"I didn't think I should leave anything behind. She," he nodded towards the house, "might have seen."

Oh. Aunt Laura. He had a good point. Thinking well ahead of her this time… "Right," she ducked her eyes briefly, then held out the foil package and water to him. "Here: made you something to eat. And before you ask, no, it's not a Hot Pocket."

Despite looking mildly disappointed, he accepted the items from her. "What is it?"

"Breakfast burrito." She smiled faintly when he cocked his head curiously. "Trust me: I think you'll like it."

His eyes held hers for a long moment, and she swore she could see them soften the longer he stared. "Thank you," he breathed, moving to sit down and settle against one of the thicker tree trunks. Kim watched as he tore open the foil with his teeth, devouring nearly half of the packed tortilla in one bite.

Kim's smile only grew. Yep, voracious appetite, she thought, raising her eyebrows at him. "Good?"

He made an affirmative sound in his throat while he ate, and she had to bite back a sudden giggle. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, seeming to consider the burrito's contents. "What's in this?" He asked with his mouth full.

"Bacon, eggs, cheese—"

"It's spicy."

"Yeah, that would be the tabasco sauce," she offered. "I put a few squirts in there to give it some flavor. Too much?"

"No, I like it," he looked up at her, swallowing. "Needs more of it."

She gave a smirking smile. "I'll bring you the bottle next time."

It took a moment, but there the barest lift of the corner of his mouth, giving a small smirk of his own before taking another huge bite of his food. At this rate, he'd finish his whole meal in only three bites, but she was smiling softly, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned back against the nearest tree.

Quiet settled between them again, amplifying the songs of the birds in her ears. It was amazing how many different songs she heard out here. Cardinals, sparrows; many of them called these trees home. The only call she really recognized, though, was the distinctly harsh caw of a crow that flew overhead. Grandpa had been the avid bird-watcher of the family, but hadn't passed that fondness on to either of his grandchildren. Maybe she ought to give it a try sometime. "Sorry," she suddenly out loud.

Bucky's gaze snapped up, brows knitting. "For what?"

"Aunt Laura," she crossed her arms. "I didn't think she'd show up that soon."

He blinked, swallowing the last of his breakfast before he spoke. "That's hardly your fault," he crumpled the foil in his metal hand.

"Yeah, well…" She leaned back against the nearest tree with a sigh. "I still could have called or texted her to get an idea of when she might get here." Right. But she might not have answered your calls knowing it was you.

There was a long pause, and she pretended like she didn't see the look of concern on his face. "She doesn't treat you well, does she?" He uncapped his bottled water, studying it for a moment before taking a sip and looking up at her expectantly.

She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. She'd been avoiding this topic: if there was anything he didn't need, it was her family drama, even if it was _his_ family, too. She needed to remember that Laura Proctor was his immediate niece, and as such, he had a right to know as much about her as possible. "You have to understand…" But then she trailed off, not sure where she was going with this.

"I hear your voice when you're on the phone with her. Your mood changes; so does your posture."

She chewed on her lip, wondering how long he really _had_ been watching over her. "How much have you heard?"

"Enough to know that you don't get along with her." He narrowed his eyes. "Why does she hate you?"

"She doesn't hate me," she answered quickly. "She just…" She sighed, shaking her head. "It's complicated."

Bucky said nothing. It was clear that he was waiting for her to go on.

Lowering her eyes, Kim released another sigh, kicking aside a small stone. "She's not a bad person, Bucky. She just has some problems."

"Like what?"

"Depression issues. She's dealt with them most of her life," she looked off into the distance, not really focusing on anything in particular. "Things only got worse after Mom and Dad died."

"Howso?"

She half-shrugged. "Mood swings happened more often; yelled at me more. Grandma would get on her case, of course, but not every argument happened in front of her." Glancing at the tree behind her, she grabbed the lowest branch and hauled herself up, maneuvering until she was seated within the tree fork. "It wasn't until after I tried to kill myself that she was actually diagnosed with bipolar disorder." She pursed her lips together. "All these years, and they couldn't properly diagnose her until recently. Must have been hell for her."

Even from above, she could see something pass through his eyes. "She shouldn't take her anger out on you."

Her heart clenched. You sound just like Steve, she thought sadly, drawing the knee of her prosthetic to her chest. "I hurt her, Bucky; it's not easy for her to let that go."

He was quiet for a moment, seeming to scan her carefully. "She was close to Jim?"

"Very." She frowned. "You'd think that losing our brothers would have brought us closer together, you know? Didn't turn out that way."

"Tell me about him."

She looked at him, quietly pleased that his interest had shifted. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything."

A faint smile touched her lips, resting her temple against the tree trunk. "You already know this, but Grandma named him after you. What you don't know is that he even kept the presidential theme going with him: his full name was James Monroe Proctor." Her smile widened. "Didn't make for nearly as good a nickname as yours, though."

He furrowed his brow, but she could see the corner of his mouth lift. "What did he do?"

"For a job, you mean?" He nodded. "Pediatrician. He liked working with kids, and he was really good at it. You could tell that he earned their trust very quickly."

"What else?"

So many memories washed over her at once, and she sighed gently this time, letting her shoulders relax. "He had your chin; your hair. He got a tattoo of a turtle right here," she tapped her left forearm, "after Scotty died. Turtles were his favorite animal, and Dad had his initials etched into the shell." She smirked. "Grandma wasn't exactly thrilled when he got it, but I think deep down, she really liked the symbolism."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Tell me more."

More. He wanted to hear more. "Hmm…he hated black jellybeans, but he'd pick them all out and give them to me because I'm the weirdo who actually _likes_ the taste of licorice.

"White socks: he flat-out refused to wear white socks because they got dirty so easily. He'd only wear black or grey, but Mom would sometimes sneak in white pair for him at Christmas as a joke."

He tilted his head. "But he never wore them?"

"Nope."

"What did he do with them, then?"

She had to snort. "He turned them into sock puppets and put on shows for us; it was the best part of that whole joke." God, there was so much to tell him about his nephew. What next? "He's the one who got Scotty and me into _Star Wars_ in the first place. We owned the movies, but if they were ever having marathons on T.V., we'd still sit down and watch them all the way through." She smiled to herself. "Mom would call him a nerd at least once a day, but he seemed pretty proud of that."

"Watching those movies…they remind you of him," Bucky offered.

She flicked her eyes down to him, feeling her heart expand at his words. "In a way." For a moment, she was quiet, the smile fading from her lips. "One thing I really miss is our trip to the Smoky Mountains every year. Dad would take Scotty and me there to go hiking, kind of like one last hurrah before school started. It's so beautiful there. So quiet." Her iPhone buzzed in her pocket, and she rummaged for it. "Grandma wanted to help me keep the tradition alive, but at her age, and with me adjusting to my prosthetics…there was just no way to make that happen."

"But you wish you could go back."

"Yes," she replied, pulling out her phone to see **Tony Stark** displayed on the screen. That was enough to make her stomach flip, but for Bucky's sake, she kept her cool and opened his text.

_Hey, Kimbo, Laura arrive yet?_

Okay, good; just a standard message. She texted, _Yes. Earlier this morning. I'm okay here,_ and hit send, slipping the device back into her pocket.

"Steve?" Bucky asked, suddenly wary.

Her heart went out to him, and she shook her head. "Just a friend." And we'll leave it at that for now, she thought, feeling a surge of protection for him. Some stories were better left for another time.

Then her attention shifted, considering the tree directly across from where she sat. Hmm. Speaking of Tony…

"What are you…?" Bucky started to ask, but she ignored him as she drew her feet up against the trunk. If she had to guess, she'd say she was about four or five feet off the ground; the off-shooting branch of the opposite tree appeared to be a few inches lower. If she got the angle just right, then _maybe_...Prepping her right leg, she held her breath and pushed herself out of the tree fork—

The instant she hit the ground, she channeled all of her strength to her prosthetic, which caused her to shoot right up towards the branch she'd been focused on. It happened so fast, and yet it seemed to happen in slow motion, every detail of her mistake already apparent before she slammed into the branch chest-first. With a muffled grunt, she fell back to the ground, landing hard on her side with a dull thud.

"Kim!" Bucky called out, and though her eyes were squeezed shut against the shooting pain, she became aware of his presence by her side. The coolness of a metal hand on her shoulder—tentative at first, but then grasping assuredly—and then his concerned voice filling her ears. "Are you alright?"

In truth, she was more stunned than anything else, the pain ebbing away in mere seconds. "I'm fine," she wheezed, glancing up at the branch she'd tried to reach. "Just misjudged that."

"What were you trying to do?" He helped her stand, and she let him.

"Figure something out," she brushed the dirt from her hands, eyes still focused intently on that branch. Not done with you yet, she insisted to herself. Bending her knees, she recalled not only the techniques Stark had advised her to practice at home, but also the video footage she'd so raptly studied, giving special consideration to the way angles could affect any possible outcome.

Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly. You can do this, she assured herself, lifting her right foot off the ground and concentrating on where she _wanted_ to go as she slammed it down. This time, she launched right up to the branch, and though the wind was knocked out of her temporarily when she smacked into it, she managed to hook her arms over it, hanging there with wide-eyes while her legs dangled beneath her. Okay, she thought, readjusting her grip. At least I didn't fall.

"Kim," Bucky said from below.

Maintaining her focus, she pulled herself up so she could take a seat on the sturdier side of the branch, surprised at her own strength in doing so. Apparently, the physical therapy was having an impact on more than just her legs. Interesting.

Looking down at Bucky, she could see the fathomless curiosity in his eyes. Spreading her hands, she gave a slight smirk. "Ta-da," she proclaimed, then rubbed the sore spot on her chest.

He furrowed his brow, coming closer to the tree. "You okay?"

"It's not bad," she assured, the pain already fading. "We've found out this leg," she patted her metal thigh, "is a lot more than just a replacement, and I'm—"

"Trying to control it."

She looked down at him. "Yeah. Something you're probably familiar with."

"You're right," he reached into his jacket, pulling out an item Kim immediately recognized. "I am."

Seeing the black cover of her journal in his metal hand made her smile softly. "So you did take it."

"Yes." Then her hesitated. "I'm sorry I stole it from you—"

But she was already waving a dismissive hand to silence him. "I was hoping you had, actually."

"You were?"

"Of course. I would have shown it to you eventually. There's more than just the memories I've written down that I want you to see."

"I know. Your leg…"

"It was inspired by your arm."

For a long time, their gazes remained locked, and even from her elevated position, she could clearly see the strain behind Bucky's eyes as he contemplated that. The understanding that the two of them were connected by so much more than blood. Though he said nothing, she could tell the notion filled him with worry. At the same time, however, that same intensity she'd come to know in only a few short days still came shining through. An ultimate sense of protectiveness, no matter what emotions plagued him beneath the surface.

"What do you need from me, Kim?" He asked slowly.

Yes. That was the question she'd been hoping for. "How did you learn to control your arm? Did you just figure it out on your own?"

"No." He lowered his eyes from hers, but she could tell he wasn't avoiding the question; he was trying to access whatever memories would possibly come when prompted by such an inquiry. "I was…" He paused. "Trained."

"Trained," she echoed.

He gave a short nod, still keeping his gaze straight ahead. "Trained to fight with it, to…to maximize my abilities," his brow creased. "Become…the Fist of HYDRA…"

Enough, she told herself, wanting to take his mind off of that. Like hell will I consider either of us to be pawns of HYDRA. "Do you—" This time, it was she who hesitated, and Bucky looked up at her. Drawing in a breath, she asked, "Do you think you can train me, Bucky?"

His eyes widened. "Train _you_?"

"To fight like you. To help me control whatever's going on with this leg."

He still seemed taken aback, his brows knitting yet again. "I…are you sure?"

"Are you kidding me?" She slid down from the branch, and though she was braced for the inevitable kick-back that would send her flying in whatever direction, she was pleasantly surprised when she simply landed in front of him. No bouncing. Apparently, he'd expected the same thing, for his hands were poised just over either sides of her waist, ready to grab her just in case. She looked up into his eyes, silently grateful for his consideration. "Why not?" She immediately went on. "You of all people obviously have a better idea of what I'm going through, so who better to train me than you? Learning to fight might be a good way for me to develop the kind of control I need."

The uncertainty that suddenly crossed his features made Kim's stomach drop, and she realized that such a request might be a great deal to ask of him. What if this doing something like this dredged up further memories of his time with HYDRA? Brought back the faces of those he'd fought and killed over the years? Before giving him a chance to speak, she shook her head, placing a hand on his metal arm. "Forget I asked. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have thrown it at you like that. It was just an—"

"I'll do it."

Her eyes snapped up to his. "You will?"

"Yes," he said pointedly. "I may not know…exactly how to…control something like this," he nodded toward her leg, "but…"

"What?"

His grey-blue eyes flashed protectively once again. "At the very least, teaching you to fight means I can teach you how to protect yourself."

She smiled softly, feeling her heart swell as she stepped forward, carefully wrapping her arms around his waist. "Thank you."

He didn't answer, but she felt his right hand settle gently upon her head.

"We'll talk more about this later, okay?" He nodded above her, then Kim glanced back towards the house with a reluctant sigh. "I should head back and see if she needs any help with Grandma."

Bucky was staring in the same direction, the sadness more than a little evident in his eyes. But he nodded his understanding. "Yes," he whispered. "Rebecca needs you."

I…need you, too, Kim thought, her arms tightening around him once more. Pulling back, she tilted her head in thought as she looked at him. "I really should take you to the Smoky Mountains someday; I think you'd like it there."

He blinked, but didn't answer. That was okay; she wasn't expecting an answer. "I'll see you later," she pulled away from his embrace.

"Wait," he said, holding out her journal to her.

But she shook her head dismissively. "Just hang onto it for now, okay? I know where to find you if I need it."

And with that, she turned and walked away, easily navigating her way back through the woods. Ducking beneath a low branch on her way, she threw one last look at Bucky, who watched her the entire time until he disappeared from view, shrouded by thick vegetation. Her heart clenched. As much as she wanted to stay with him—and not face whatever was awaiting her when she returned home—it would only complicate things if she was found with him. For the time being, this was how it had to be.

The house came into view less than a minute later, and she tried to ignore the knot that was forming in her stomach. Maybe Aunt Laura would want something for lunch, and she had to be ready to help out in any way possible.

* * *

"It's completely asinine, Kim!" Laura snapped, pacing around the living room in her usual manner. "With how competitive the job market is these days, how can you not even consider pursuing a college degree? A bachelor's? An associates, even! It's ridiculous!"

From her green chair, Kim sighed slowly, uncrossing one arm to rub at her temple. No matter how many times they discussed it, her aunt always felt a need to express her displeasure over Kim's plans for the future. "Aunt Laura," she said as patiently as possible, "this internship is a huge opportunity for me. It's not something typically offered, not even to college grads, and this could help me get into some—"

"It's an _internship_ , Kim!" Her chocolate eyes flashed angrily. "That's all this is! An _unpaid_ internship at that. You know what that means? No compensation for the work you'll be doing. What's going to happen in the meantime? How the hell do you expect to support yourself financially once Mom is gone?"

God, thanks for bringing it up like that. Again. "You don't have to worry about that," she tried to say calmly, but heard her own voice beginning to rise in frustration. "Tony's asked me to something that will—"

" _Tony_ ," she spat. "Now you're on a first-name basis with the man? How convenient."

A blush rose to her cheeks. "He's a friend, Aunt Laura; he asked me to call him that."

She threw her hands up into the air. "And who's to say how long that'll last, young lady? What happens when you're no longer his golden child and abandons you after getting what he wants out of you? What if you _can't_ find a position that suits the qualifications from your internship? What then, huh? Going to try ending it all again when nothing seems to be going right?"

She winced, the words a complete slap in the face. "That is _not_ fair…" Her words suddenly sounded so weak in her ears.

"Tell me about fair when someone else does it under your own roof."

Kim closed her eyes, unable to look at her. She would _not_ cry in front of her. Not like this.

"What I'm telling you is the reality of the situation, Kim. When Mom's not here to take care of you anymore, what are—"

"She _wants_ me to do this!" She finally cut in herself. "You _know_ she's wanted this for me for the past two years. You were even here when she and Tony were discussing it with me. I wouldn't have had the guts to agree if she hadn't pushed me to begin with."

Laura's eyes narrowed, her voice becoming deceptively calm, which made Kim's insides quake nervously. "And what alternatives have you considered if none of this works out? Have you looked into any possible fields to fall back on, just in case?" Kim said nothing. "I figured as much. What about living arrangements? Where will you be staying once your internship begins? 'Cause you sure as well won't be living here."

Great. Yet another reminder that after Grandma passed, this house—the place she called home—would go to Laura. It was inevitable, and Kim knew this. "I'll have to find an apartment downtown, something closer to the Candleman Center. It'll make things a little easier once things get started. Harder to hide Bucky, she thought, but…I'll figure it out. Somehow.

"Have you even started looking for a place yet?"

"No," she admitted softly.

The chime of the doorbell had them both turning their heads, and Kim was silently grateful for the interruption.

Laura sighed in exasperation. "Just remember," she said, heading for the entryway, "you have three months to find an apartment, and then I want you out of here. I'm sure Mr. Stark would be happy to snap his fingers if you go groveling to him."

Huffing out a breath, Kim willed herself to say nothing. Just crossed her arms over her chest again and held back the tears that burned behind her eyes. She doesn't mean any of this, she reminded herself. She's angry and sad, and she's taking it out on you. That's all this is. Her needing to take it out on someone. Anyone. Me.

For the past four years, she thought, chewing on her lower lip.

She listened as Laura unlocked and opened the front door. "Oh, for God's sake, _what_? What do you want?"

"Nice to see you again, too, Laura."

Kim's ears perked up. Tony? She turned in her seat. What…was he doing here?

She could hear Laura's exasperated sigh. "Look, this is not a very good time, Mr. Stark, so whatever reason you have for coming here—"

"I'm aware of Rebecca's condition, Miss Proctor, and I can assure you that my reasons for being here are of an urgent nature. I believe you're already acquainted with Justin Wilkes?"

"Of course."

That's when Kim finally stood and crossed to the entryway. Mr. Wilkes was her grandmother's attorney, and she'd met with him a number of times in the past few months in order to finalize the details of her will. Why he was here with Stark, though…

Coming up behind Laura, she met Stark's eyes through the open doorway.

"Kimbo," he said warmly, "was hoping you'd be here to join us."

Her aunt gave her a sideways glance, which she ignored. "Hey." Then she frowned. "What's going on?"

"A little matter of estate to discuss at Rebecca's request," he turned briefly to Mr. Wilkes, who nodded, then turned back to them. "Mind if we come in? We have a lot to go over, and I don't want to take up any more of your time than is necessary."

Reluctance rolled off of Laura in unseen waves, but, setting her jaw, she finally stood aside to let them enter.

"Thank you," Stark said, but Laura simply turned on her heel and walked briskly toward the dining room, implying for them to follow.

"Whatever this is, let's get it over with," she called over her shoulder.

Geez. She was already livid, and it was making Kim incredibly uneasy. Mr. Wilkes went ahead, but Kim placed a hand on Stark's arm, causing him to hang back for a moment.

"What is this?" She whispered worriedly. "What are you going to do?"

He gave her a reassuring look, lifting a hand to her shoulder. "Relax, kiddo. Just doing what needs to be done, and your aunt is going to have to listen to what I have to say."

Hearing him phrase it like that caused her stomach to hit the floor. Whatever he had planned was obviously not going to set well on her aunt's agitated state of mind. "Tony," she warned, closing her eyes, " _please_ don't make things worse than they already are."

"Hey, don't worry," he insisted, giving her shoulder a squeeze, "I'm going to be right there beside you, okay? Just trust me."

Over what? Kim wondered, still anxious about where this was possibly going. She didn't have a choice, however, when Stark made for the dining room, motioning for her to join them at the dining room table when he pulled out a chair for her.

She suddenly couldn't deny how much she wanted to hold Bucky's hand right now. Please, _please_ don't make this worse…

Sucking in a breath, Kim followed.

* * *

If she hadn't already been sitting down, Kim would have completely collapsed. I didn't hear that right, she thought, still gaping in disbelief. I couldn't have…

But judging by her aunt's hysterical shrieking, there was no denying what she'd heard was, indeed, fact. Glancing down at the pages in front of her—a copy of Rebecca Proctor's Last Will and Testament—only served to reaffirm what Stark had revealed to them mere seconds ago.

That this house would _not_ be left to Laura…but to _Kim_.

God, Grandma…Tears blurred her vision, but she hardly felt them as they fell down her cheeks. Numb. She was far too numb with shock over this news to feel anything, and that same numbness seemed to reach her ears, drowning out the harsh words Laura had for Mr. Wilkes at the moment.

Leaving the house to me? To me. It was taking a great deal of effort to remind herself how to breathe again. Her grandmother had never discussed this with her, but apparently she'd made arrangements with Stark in the presence of her lawyer over the last few months. Everything was right there in the legal documents, signed and dated, all legit. A done deal, Stark had said, and there was no contesting that.

I don't have to leave; this will still be my home. _My_ home...

Her stomach sank. There was no mistaking that this was going to cause even more tension between her and her aunt, but then when she registered Stark's hand on the small of her back, it provided the smallest degree of comfort. Exhaling shakily, she looked up at Laura's reddened face, her chest tightening when she saw that tears were also streaming down her face.

"…can't tell me there's absolutely nothing that can be done to change this!" The numbness in Kim's ears was finally wearing off. "My mother never mentioned changing her mind about this house. Ever!"

"That's because she knew you would object to her decisions, Laura," Stark explained calmly in the seat next to Kim, "which, I can assure you, were very consciously made by her own sound mind. Justin and I even have video footage of our sessions, should you care to see the evidence."

"We do," Mr. Wilkes affirmed, shuffling a few papers. "Each time we met with Rebecca, she requested digital documentation so you could see her in control of the entire situation from beginning to end."

From across the table, Laura's eyes flashed icily at Kim. "You; _you_ put Mom up to this, didn't you?"

Kim gaped at her, utterly appalled. How could she say something like that? She shook her head, her mind scrambling for any kind of a coherent response, but Stark beat her to the punch when he lifted a hand.

"Don't even think about it, Laura, and keep your voice down, would you?" He said with a firmness that surprised Kim. "I'm sure Rebecca wouldn't appreciate hearing you like this."

Hearing this temporarily silenced her, her fingernails starting to claw at the tablecloth.

Stark rested his elbows on the table. "It was your mother who approached me about her will in the first place; Kim had no say in these revisions whatsoever."

"How the hell would you know?" She snapped. "You're not here twenty-four hours a day; you don't know what kind of influence she might have had on her!"

"How can you say that, Aunt Laura?" Kim couldn't stop herself from crying out. "You know I would never do anything like that to…to anyone! I promise you that!"

Laura's eyes narrowed at her. "Just like your promise to Jim that you'd look after Scotty the day he died?"

That…was an absolute punch to the gut, all air escaping Kim's lungs as her eyes went wide.

Stark stood quickly. "That is _enough,_ Laura!" He reprimanded sharply.

In the ensuing quiet, Kim's head fell into her hands, her heart overwhelmed with the hurt and horror that accompanied her aunt's insinuation. She felt herself trembling, trying hard to hold back the swell of emotions before she screamed. God, how could she…? She didn't even try holding back the tears.

"Kim," Stark said, and she lifted her damp eyes up to him. His gaze was fixed on Laura, but even from this angle, she didn't miss the protective glint in those brown pools. "Take a walk. There are a few things I need to discuss with your aunt in private." His voice. It was so low, so serious. Forewarning that it would be best for her to go. Still staring forward, he placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "I'll let you know when things quiet down here."

It was all she needed to hear. Shoving her chair back from the table, she didn't even glance back as she dashed through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door, needing to just get away. Out of the house. Away from everything causing her pain. Tears made the world appear watery, but they hardly slowed her down. She didn't care that she was in denim shorts and one of her nicer shirts; she had her running shoes on, and she just needed to—

Rounding the side of the house, she ran right into Bucky with a choked gasp. She stared up at him with wide eyes, her breaths shaking as tears falling down her face in hot lines. He looked at her, worry evident in the crease of his brow, and the way his eyes rapidly searched hers. For a brief moment, she worried someone might have noticed them, but then her ears picked up on the ensuing argument from one of the open windows. There was no way they'd been detected.

She swallowed to lubricate her dry throat, whispering, "Did you hear?"

"Every word," he said just as quietly, and she could see the anger shimmering in his gaze.

Another long pause, neither of them looking away. If it had been any other time, she would have wrapped her arms around him and begged to be kept in his embrace, but that was something she couldn't do now. There were so many emotions welling up within her, so much pain that needed to be purged from her heart, and all she could think of to say was, "Run with me."

He stared at her a moment longer. Then, "Lead the way."

She'd never be able to thank him enough. Kim took off, running along the length of the house at a dead sprint, and before she knew it, Bucky was following closely beside her. They made for the main road, and as the voices faded away behind her, she knew for a fact that no one inside the house was aware of the man who accompanied her.


	12. Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: My readers, I have a re-write of this chapter for you, as well as a new character for you to meet. I hope she's met with your approval, as I am looking forward to elaborating on her past as I keep going. Please let me know what you think, and I will try to get the remaining chapters up soon.
> 
> Once again, thank you for your patience and understanding as I re-work certain parts of my story.

 

She ran. She ran because she had to. Because she needed to. Needed to expound herself of the pain, the sorrow, the anger, the ever-rising despair that threatened to consume her heart all over again.

Kim ran. She had no true destination in mind, just the driving need to _go_. Run. Keep pushing herself until her legs burned and lungs constricted in protest. She didn't care; she'd do anything to distract herself from the hurt that was pulsing within her.

Breathe in. One, two. Breathe out. One, two. Her heavy breaths coming steadily now that she'd set her pace, tears still streaming from her eyes. She just had to be as far away from home as possible, even if only temporarily. Breathe in. One, two. Breathe out. One, two…

To her right, she heard Bucky's steady breathing as he ran alongside her, keeping the pace she set whether she lengthened or shortened her stride. The jacket and cap still concealed him, and despite how much he must have been sweltering beneath them in this heat, she never heard him once complain, nor did he ever tell her to stop or slow down. Just matched her stride-for-stride, letting her lead him wherever she needed to go.

Somehow, Kim had managed to subconsciously guide him down some of the less frequented side-streets in town, which would reduce their chances of being seen by members of the community in broad daylight. Those who knew her might have some questions regarding her strange new running partner, and the last thing she wanted to face was an endless series of questions. Especially if one of them—and it was entirely possible—happened to recognize who he was…

As they rounded the corner at Sycamore Drive, intermittent shade from the trees flanking either side of the road cooled Kim, who was sweating profusely at her temples. It was actually quite amazing how fluidly she was running, how effortless it was to be going at a much faster pace than usual. Due to her inexperience as a runner, she'd limited herself only to light jogging, thinking it would be the best way for her body to adjust as her prosthetics evolved. But now…now it was as if she'd been a well-trained marathoner for _years_.

Still, no matter how hard she ran, no matter how much she focused on ridding herself of all feelings…the pain in her heart just wasn't subsiding. Her vision wavered yet again as she thought about Aunt Laura's final gut-wrenching accusation, the tears building up when Scotty's young face emerged in her mind. She automatically quickened her pace. How happy he'd had been the last day she'd seen him, the smile he gave her just before they both ran into the waves together…and then seeing him when his small body was pulled from the water…

Her eyes snapped shut as she screamed long and hard, sprinting ahead for several yards before slamming her foot down on the ground. The scream abruptly ended as she flew through the air, making an impressively long arc for what felt like ages—and for a moment, everything seemed to slow, became so quiet as her mind frantically tried to process what was occurring—until she collided roughly with the ground, rolling a few times before she finally came to a stop at the side of the road.

"Kim!" Bucky's voice seemed so far away.

Kim grunted, but didn't move. She remained curled on her side, her chest heaving as she fought to regain her breath, pain throbbing in time with her heartbeat and making the fresh scrapes on her skin very noticeable.

Bucky's rapid footsteps drew nearer. "Kim," he repeated, Kim's vision darkening when his shadow loomed over her.

Even if she could have answered him, she wasn't sure what she would have said, so simply waited for the throbbing to subside. The pain wasn't that bad, really; just unexpected.

"Kim," she felt him place a hand on her shoulder.

She exhaled heavily. Opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was the wooden post of the fence right in front of her, and as she lifted her head, she paused when she met the glassy black eyes of the cow on the opposite side. Her brow furrowed; she'd collapsed somewhere in front of Doc Miller's farm, whose property began just beyond the trees of Sycamore. The cow just stood there, staring at Kim, chewing her cud almost mockingly at her.

Kim huffed out a shallow breath. Yeah, I'll bet that was entertaining, she thought dryly, pushing herself up from the ground at last. She didn't object at all to Bucky's assistance, her shoulders still rising and falling rapidly as she breathed. She couldn't remember running that hard in her life. Ever. How the hell had she been able to keep it up for so long? Glancing back, the evidence of her fall was clearly marked in the dirt, quite the impressive skid from what she could determine. Even though her mind was a tangled mess of emotions, she couldn't help but wonder how far she'd gone from the moment she stomped her foot down…

The pressure of his fingers tightening on her shoulder brought her attention back to Bucky, and though his face was dripping with sweat and his own chest heaved, his concerned eyes remained riveted on hers. He didn't even blink when he told her quite plainly, "I think it's time for a break."

She swallowed, feeling how parched her throat really was, and she gave a subtle nod. Yes; that was enough for now.

Bucky stood, and she accepted his bionic hand when offered, the metal grip warm from exposure to the sun. A heavy sigh fell from her as she examined the scrapes on her dirty arms, but the worst of her injuries appeared to be her skinned knee, courtesy of her initial contact with the asphalt. It stung, but wouldn't impede her ability to walk. Looking over her prosthetic, though, she couldn't find any trace of damage due to her fall. Stark was right: this was one hell of an alloy he'd utilized. At least something came out of that unscathed, she thought.

Brushing the dust and dirt from her clothes, Kim checked their current surroundings. About a half mile down the road, she could see the back of a familiar building at the next intersection, and the sparsely populated parking lot beside it.

Time for a break, Bucky's words echoed in her head. She looked down at her arms, seeing how dirty and scratched they were, not to mention the thin lines of blood starting to squeeze through. She really couldn't return home looking the way that she did. Sure, she couldn't completely hide the fact that she'd taken a fall like that from Stark—and more than likely, she'd be writing about it later—but perhaps she could soften the blow. Just a little bit.

Sucking in a breath, she roughly wiped the tears away from her damp cheeks. "Trust me?" She whispered.

"Yes," Bucky answered.

Good. She touched her hand to his right arm, a gesture for him to follow. "Come on."

* * *

_The Boxcar_ was a small diner just on the outskirts of Frederick County, and one of the biggest draws for many of the local residents. The owners prided themselves on meals made completely from scratch, and that included their homemade pies and fresh-churned ice cream. It was a place Kim had frequented with her grandmother ever since she moved to the D.C. area, and a quiet haven she could retreat to when Rebecca's condition became overwhelming at times. Anymore, the staff had grown accustomed to her spontaneous visits. Thankfully, their lunch rush appeared to be long over by now, which, after some further encouragement from Kim, helped to ease Bucky's anxieties about going into a public place.

As soon as the tinkering bell of the opening door announced their arrival, Kim heard a gasp, and then the clattering of a metal coffee urn against the countertop.

"My God, Kim!" The lone waitress on duty—and the only one in the diner who had a very distinct British accent—all but sprinted around the edge of the counter, a few tresses of her dark-blonde hair coming loose from her ponytail. "Are you alright? What happened to you?"

Yep, she must have been quite a sight with her tear-streaked face and unkempt appearance, but the last thing she wanted was to draw the attentions of the few customers seated inside. Unfortunately, they were looking in their direction, whether she liked it or not. "I'm alright, Emma," she held up a hand to calm her as she crossed over to her. "Don't freak out."

"Don't freak out?" She said incredulously, her normally gentle voice rising a bit more than usual, and it hardly went unnoticed when she threw a glance at the strange man accompanying her. "You come in here looking like you've been dragged through a bloody field, and you tell me not to freak out?" As she took one of Kim's arms to inspect it, she looked over at Bucky again, and Kim silently prayed that she wouldn't ask questions about him. Not yet. Thankfully, Emma's focus quickly returned to the rough scratches marring her skin. "God, look at you," she murmured, being careful not to actually touch the bleeding marks. "What happened?"

Kim sighed. Emma had come to know both her and her grandmother pretty well over time, and she couldn't ignore the genuine concern that was present in her voice. "I…fell." God, that sounded lame even to her own ears.

Emma stared at her a moment longer, her eyes flicking once more to Bucky as she seemed to contemplate something. No questions, Emma. Please…

"Right, well…come on, dearie," she said, draping an arm around her shoulders, "let's get you cleaned up then." Craning her neck around, she called out, "Hey, Dave? Dave? Do you mind watching the front for a moment?"

The cook poked his head through the open kitchen window. "Yeah, sure." He frowned when he saw Kim. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine; just want to help her get cleaned up, is all."

He gave a nod. "Go on. I'll hold down the fort."

"Thanks." Emma led Kim away from the main dining area, navigating her towards the restrooms in the back. Just as they got to the ladies' room, though, she felt Emma turn at her side.

"No no, love; this is ladies' room only. You'll have to wait out—"

Oh no, Kim thought, but it was too late. Just as Emma reached out to place a halting hand on Bucky's chest, he instantly caught her wrist, eliciting a harsh gasp from her throat.

"No, don't!" Kim hissed through her teeth, trying not to yell out.

Bucky didn't move, but his grip also never faltered on Emma, who stared at him—and the metal hand grasping her—with wide eyes. She remained frozen in place, her face blanching while his hardened gaze bore into hers.

Kim swallowed. "Hey," the word came out in a choked whisper, but he didn't relent. Emma said nothing. Absolutely nothing. But at the same time, something in her steady gaze seemed to change the longer she looked at him, the initial fear morphing into what she could only describe as…sympathy? Even her wrist appeared to become somewhat limp in his grasp, a sign to show that she would not struggle.

Drawing in a breath, Kim moved slowly to Bucky's side, placing a hand on his right shoulder. "Hey, look at me. Look at me…" It took a moment, but Bucky finally turned his eyes to her, and through his steely expression, she saw a shimmer of recognition. "She's just trying to help," she said softly. "Let her go."

Bucky hesitated, but the longer he stared at her, the more clarity seemed to return to his eyes. Exhaling audibly, he released Emma, who slowly drew her wrist back to rub at it.

Kim continued to keep her hand on him. "She's going to help me get cleaned up, so I'll be back out soon," she glanced along the wall, seeing the three booths that were normally reserved for when the wait-staff went on their breaks. "Here," she led him to the last one, "wait for me here, okay?"

He never looked away from her the entire time she'd spoken, but he drew in a breath and gave a nod, letting her guide him to sit in the vinyl-lined booth. She whispered quietly to him, and when he gave her an apologetic look, she gave him as reassuring a smile as possible.

Her hand lingered on his shoulder for several more seconds, but when she sensed more of a calmness descending upon him, she turned back to Emma, who was still holding her wrist as she watched them raptly.

"Come on, Emma," she said softly, "he needs to be alone for a minute."

Though her brow furrowed, Emma nodded, turning to open the door of the restroom at last. Kim threw one last glance back at Bucky, whose face was obscured by his baseball cap when he bowed his head.

* * *

Being a small diner, the restrooms were single occupancy only, but neither of them seemed to be bothered by the cramped space. Emma gave Kim the spare hair-tie from around her wrist, which she used to pull her hair back so she could wash her face. Despite how hot it had been outside, the splash of warm water on her face was a welcome relief, washing away the dirt and grime and tears that had accumulated on her skin. Washing away all that was making her heart and mind heavy with grief; washing away the pain, even if only on the surface.

She took the washcloth Emma offered her from the lone shelf, blotting her face dry while she watched her rummage through the first-aid kit on the wall. Kim also took time to wash her arms before Emma put the lid down on the toilet seat, giving her a place to sit.

Emma wrung out another clean cloth at the sink and knelt before Kim, bringing the cloth to her knee. Despite her best efforts to be careful, Kim hissed at the contact. "Sorry, love."

"It's fine," she wheezed, tensing briefly when she touched her knee again.

"Alright, then," she soothed, tucking an errant dark-blonde tress behind her ear. "You're alright."

The more she focused on how that lovely accent filled her ears, the more she felt herself start to relax, and soon enough, the worst of the stinging sensation in her knee quickly subsided.

While the she continued to dab away the flecks of blood, Kim watched her silently. Emma Archer had kind blue eyes on a sweet face, and her endless capacity to care about others never ceased to amaze her. She'd also become quite an unexpected constant in Kim's life ever since she'd moved to Maryland, starting from the very first day her grandmother introduced them to one another at the diner. What immediately stood out to her, of course, was the elegance of her accent when she warmly greeted her. Hearing such a distinct manner of speech somehow put her heart at ease, helped make her feel as though she wasn't the only one who would be perceived as an outsider in a strange place.

Kim would never forget how stunned she was when Emma, a perfect stranger at the time, had instantly come forth and wrapped her up in a tight hug. With all that had happened with her parents, it didn't occur to her to mind, and she figured it was a simply gesture of comfort on her part. But then she explained that she and Rebecca had spoken at great length regarding each other's family histories over the months, and revealed that had it not been for Captain Rogers—and those who eventually became his Howling Commandos—her grandfather wouldn't have survived his imprisonment during WWII.

_You're one of their descendants, Kim; meeting you is an honor and a privilege_ , she'd told her at the time.

From that day on, the bond between them continued to grow stronger, and it soon became natural to hear Emma calling her variations of "love" and "dear" whenever she came into the diner. Something about the elegance of her accent…Kim liked it. It helped to put her heart at ease, made her feel as though she wasn't the only one perceived as an outsider in a strange place. Made her feel like she belonged.

Emma stood, pulling Kim from her thoughts, and rinsed the cloth at the sink. "You know," she finally said after some time, "I'm not normally one to pry, but you've certainly brought some interesting characters into our little shop as of late." She turned the faucet off, wringing out the cloth before kneeling once again to clean her skin. "First, Mr. Stark; then Captain Rogers that one time. And now…" She trailed off, releasing a sigh as she sat back on her heels, and Kim knew that look in her eyes when they locked with hers: concern laced with traces of protection. "I'm not sure if 'friend' is the proper title for this one. Who _is_ he, Kim?"

"James," she answered quickly, hoping the tremor wasn't apparent in her voice. "His name is James."

Emma's gaze held hers. "James," she repeated, the name sounding so regal coming from her. Obviously, she was expecting more.

She took a discreet breath. "Distant cousin on Mom's side. Third cousin, I think." It was the best she could come up with. "I invited him out here to visit."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "While your Gran is sick?"

"It's—" think fast, she told herself, "—a little complicated. We've never met before, and when he heard about Grandma's first stroke, he really wanted to come see me."

Emma paused, her arms unfolding. "First _…_ stroke?"

Damn it, she thought, scolding herself. She hadn't told her about that yet. With a sigh, she dropped her eyes and said, "Yeah. She…had another stroke two days ago."

"My God," Emma breathed softly, and Kim looked up as she rested both her hands atop her prosthetic knee, the unmistakable sorrow in her features making her heart clench. "I'm so sorry, Kim."

She smiled sadly. It touched her to hear how concerned she truly was for her grandmother.

"I wish you would have at least called. If you needed anything, I could have come over at some—"

"It just wouldn't have been good timing," Kim interrupted. "For anything. There's already enough going on at home, and I just wanted to keep things quiet for Aunt Laura, so…" She trailed off, spreading her hands.

Emma gave a fleeting smile. "Yes, of course," she conceded. "Who else knows besides your aunt?"

She sighed. "Steve; Tony. Now you."

She nodded. "I suppose it makes sense, then, as to why you want your cousin's company at this time. Helps to have family you can actually talk to during difficult times, yeah?"

"Yeah," Kim agreed quietly.

She picked up the cloth from her lap. "He's not from around here, is he? James."

Kim shook her head. "New York," she told her. At least _that_ part was true.

Emma made an acknowledging sound. "New York. That might explain his demeanor," she grabbed a bottle of antiseptic from the sink, pouring some onto a corner of the cloth. "The strong, silent type. Emphasis on the 'strong.'"

Kim glanced at her wrist, sighing to herself when she saw the mark Bucky had left there. There would be a definite bruise by tomorrow. "He didn't mean anything by it, Emma. He's just had a rough couple of days."

Emma raised an eyebrow, carefully touching the cloth to her knee. "Perhaps more than a couple of days, if you ask me."

Kim's brow furrowed, partially from the sting of antiseptic, but more from her comment. "But there's a reason for it, Emma: he's had a hard time adjusting since coming home from Iraq."

She paused, looking up at her. "He was in the army?"

Thank goodness; she was buying it. Nodding, she said, "Yeah. Three tours."

Her eyes widened a little. "Oh…What happened to him?"

Kim chewed her lower lip, but only briefly, having already concocted a plausible story in her mind. "He doesn't talk about it, but…I know he was given orders to kill some people, and he had a hard time carrying them out." She winced when Emma pressed her knee too hard, and she murmured an apology. "It messed him up pretty badly."

She nodded slowly. "I'm not surprised. In some cases, PTSD has been known to traumatize the minds of soldiers to the point of completely altering their personalities," Emma replied, blowing on Kim's knee to soothe it. "It's not something I'm completely unfamiliar with."

Yes, Kim thought, recalling some of the stories she'd told about her grandfather. She knew that Emma had firsthand knowledge of how PTSD had impacted him, and their family, and sometimes it was hard for her to discuss at length…

"Looking at you now," she went on, "I can't help but assume that your cousin might have taken some of that stress out on you as well."

Her eyes widened at the insinuation. "Oh, _no_ ," she held up her hands, shaking her head. "No. He didn't have anything to do with this. I swear."

Emma's eyes were locked with hers, still searching, still slightly skeptical, trying to determine the validity of her statement. At one point, her brow furrowed a bit. "You really did fall, Kim?"

She blew out a breath. "Yes. Something's been going on with this new leg lately, and I...sort of just tested it out again. Kind of hard to explain without giving you the same kind of show I just gave Elsie out there a bit ago."

At that, Emma finally covered her mouth let out a laugh, and that break in the tension lightened Kim's heart a little. "Scaring the livestock at Doc Miller's, Kim dear? Aren't you just becoming all sorts of trouble," she shook her head, then gave a sigh. "If what you're saying about your cousin is true, and he hasn't laid a hand on you—"

"He hasn't," Kim assured, "I promise you that."

Emma gave a nod, though her face was serious. "Then so long as he does right by you, he'll have no problem with me, dearie." She pulled a band-aid from her pocket. "Sorry; it's Peanuts characters, but it will work until you can get home."

"S'okay. I like Snoopy," Kim said, watching her place the adhesive across one of the larger scratches. "Might want to use two."

Emma pulled another from her pocket, covering even more of the wound. "Let's see that arm," she stood and poured more antiseptic onto the cloth, but then paused, giving her marked wrist a pensive look. "Speaking of which, he was injured in the war, wasn't he?" She asked, looking at Kim. "His hand; it's made of metal. He's an amputee."

The sudden skip of her heart caused her to clear her throat. "Oh yeah."

Her eyes saddened as she leaned back against the sink. "So, it's another prosthetic like yours, then? One that Mr. Stark designed for him? I mean, it looked rather intricate compared to most I've seen."

Kim licked her lips. "No. It does what he needs, but we're hoping Tony can eventually take a look at it and see if any modifications can be made."

"Hmm," Emma commented, turning to put the bottle down. "Be interesting to see what he'd do to improve on it. The man already had one hell of a grip on him."

Kim reached out to touch her elbow. "Emma?" Emma paused, waiting for her to go on. "I know I have no right to ask you this, and I know it'll probably raise even more questions for you, but…" She took a breath. "Will you please keep who he is and the fact that he's here on the down-low? He's so uncomfortable around people to begin with, and I think the less they're talking about him, the better off he'll be. He's family, and I don't want to make him to feel out-of-sorts." She sighed through her nose, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I know he's done enough running away for one lifetime."

Emma blinked, brow furrowing in thought. "Rebecca doesn't know that he's here, does she?"

Kim swallowed, shaking her head. "Hard to say," she muttered, casting her eyes downward.

"Which means your aunt doesn't know, either."

Kim looked up again. " _Please_ , Emma. He needs me. Deep down, he's a good man; he just needs to be left alone right now."

She tilted her head. "Considering how protective he already seems to be around you, I have no doubt about that." Then her eyes softened. "If it's important you, Kim dear—and so long as you're honest with me about what happens from here on out—then your secret is safe with me."

She felt her eyes shine with gratitude. "Thank you."

A gentle smile crossed her lips, and Emma absently shook her head. "The interesting life you already lead, Kim," she commented, pressing the cloth to one of the scrapes on Kim's arm; it didn't hurt nearly as much as her knee.

Interesting doesn't even come close, she thought, releasing a breath through her nose.

"When we're finished in here," Emma went on, cleaning the last of her scrapes, "I know you prefer tea, but what about James? Think he'd take some coffee?"

Actually, that was a good question, and she lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug. "I don't know. Worth a shot, I guess."

She smiled. "Alright. Milk and sugar, then?"

"No milk!" Kim said abruptly, causing Emma to raise her brows. Watch it, she warned herself, shaking her head. "H-he's not a fan of it. That much I do know."

Emma stared at her a moment longer, but then smiled, turning back to the sink to re-rinse the cloth. "Alright, then; sugar it is."

Kim released another quiet breath.

* * *

They'd already downed the waters Emma had brought them, the empty glasses sitting at the edge of the table while they waited for refills. Kim sat silently across the booth from Bucky, her finger slowly tracing the rim of her tea mug. He set his own mug down again, Kim's eyes flicking up to follow the movement of his hand. Bucky was actually drinking his coffee, which, so far, he'd only taken black. She automatically made a mental note to herself.

Neither of them had said more than two words since she returned from the restroom, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence between them. It just…was. Her body was still sore from her fall, but it didn't hurt nearly as bad as the pain that was still radiating beneath her chest. And it wasn't just her grandmother's health, nor the sting of Aunt Laura's words that were continuing to haunt her…

"Was she hurt?"

Kim's eyes snapped to his. "Hmm?"

He swallowed. "The woman. Did I hurt her?"

She took a breath and sighed, shaking her head. "No; she's okay."

"But you're not." There was nothing but absolute certainty in his voice, and the silence lingered between them once more. Something about the way he was looking at her, the intensity of his gaze never wavering, had Kim's shoulders sagging from the weight of his concern.

Biting down on her lip, she returned her attention to her mug. "No," she whispered so softly that she barely heard it even in her own ears. She hadn't been okay for a very long time.

Bucky was waiting. Waiting for her to cry; waiting for her to speak; she had a feeling that no matter what she said or did, he would do anything to let her know that he was here, that he was listening.

But did she have the strength to confess to him that…?

She closed her eyes. "What Aunt Laura said—about Scotty…"

Bucky briefly shook his head. "She had no right—"

"But she did," she interjected, a touch louder this time. He said nothing, and when she forced herself to look at him, those grey-blue orbs had narrowed at her slightly. There was no mistaking that he expected her to go on. Kim drew in a shaking breath, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have died."

His eyes widened—in disbelief? In shock? Whatever he felt in that moment, he still remained silent, and she though she hesitated—plagued by the rush of memories that returned to her for what felt like the millionth time—Kim knew she had no choice but to go on.

Dropping her gaze, she shook her head. "He was—right there," she said, tears already starting to sting her eyes, "next to me. He…Mom told me to keep an eye on him…"

"Where were you?" He asked softly.

"Myrtle Beach." During what was supposed to be a relaxing family vacation for spring break. Instead, it had turned out to be a living nightmare. Every detail of that day was still so vivid in her mind, from the salty scent of the air, to the hammering of her heart when her fear had hit its peak. She sniffed, wiping her cheeks as she took a steadying breath. "Scotty…he loved swimming. He was hoping to see turtles in the water." His simple wish; how sweet it seemed to her so many years later. "Mom said it was okay for me to take him out for a swim."

"Your parents stayed on land?"

She nodded. "We were playing out there. We didn't go very far, and he was right next to me, but…" She remembered how her eyes had stung when Scotty splashed salty water in her face, how they'd attempted to ride the incoming waves—waves that were surprisingly forceful, making her feel a slight pull further away from the shore every now and then. But both she and Scotty were good swimmers, so it wasn't enough to make either of them uneasy. God damn it, it should have, though…

"Kim," Bucky said, pulling a trembling gasp from her. "You can tell me."

She finally lifted her eyes to his, and for the briefest of seconds, it occurred to her that talking to him about this had been…had been akin to when she would talk to his photograph. Different, yes, but regardless of his appearance, he was still the same man she pretended to confide in when she was younger.

Somehow, that gave her strength to go on. "He was right next to me, and I turned away for just a few seconds." She frowned, releasing a humorless laugh. "Para-sailors. Of all things, I turn away to look at a couple of para-sailors, and when I looked back…h-he was gone. Scotty was _gone_."

The tears fell down her cheeks, though she paid them no mind. "I thought he was just trying to scare me so he could laugh at the look on my face, and I yelled for him to knock it off. God, I _yelled_ at him, Bucky!" The same feeling of panic that had overwhelmed her back then served to quicken her pulse even now.

Bucky leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, an indication that he was listening closely.

"I…I tried to find him. I knew he couldn't hold his breath that long…"

"But he never came up," he finished for her.

Kim bit her lip hard. No, because he _couldn't_. The searing tears reminded her of how horribly her eyes had burned when she'd gone underwater and held them open, her vision clouded without goggles on, and how frantically her mind raced when she resurfaced and cried out for him. She was choking on mouthfuls of water, coughing as she tried to scream for her parents, and even from a distance, she clearly remembered the look of terror on their faces…

She sighed, her head hanging in shame. "He was a good swimmer," she whispered, "and we knew what to do in case of rip-tides. But something went wrong, and he needed me. My brother _needed_ me, and I was too damn distracted to realize it." It's my fault, a voice whispered woefully within her; it's my fault. Sniffing quietly, she turned away to look out the window, letting a long exhale pass through her lips.

But he caught her attention again when he held out his napkin to her, and she mumbled a thanks as she took it and pressed it to her damp face.

"No one understands what you're going through better than me," Bucky said quietly, and she lowered the napkin from her eyes to see him. "Scotty's death wasn't your fault, but I know what it is to be haunted by regret." He clenched his jaw, but still went on. "I won't tell you how to feel, but from what you've told me, I know you would have helped him if you'd known he was in trouble. You _tried_ to find him when you realized something wasn't right." Reaching out, he took one of her hands in his, the metal of it oddly comforting in its solidness. "That's something to remember about yourself, Kim."

She could only stare at his hand holding hers. Six years. It had been six years since she'd been able to discuss Scotty's death with anyone—including her grandmother—but that had finally changed in Bucky's presence. It didn't matter that she'd known him less than a week; having him here…She couldn't explain it, but the way he simply _listened_ ; the way his eyes had never left hers; the realization that there hadn't been any inkling of judgment on his end…something about talking to him just felt so _right_.

Still, there were other memories plaguing her that refused to be ignored. "Do you think that…" She trailed off.

"What?"

She drew in a breath, but could do nothing to quell the quaking of her voice when she asked, "If I'd been able to save Scotty that day, do you think my Mom and Dad would still be alive?"

His eyes widened slightly. "Why would you think that?"

"Because of how much they started fighting after he died. Maybe if I'd gotten to him, they wouldn't have been fighting the night of the crash. Dad might have seen that car swerving at him sooner if he wasn't yelling at Mom."

The steadiness of his gaze never wavered. "We can't know that for sure, Kim," he laid his other hand atop their clasped ones, "but I'll be damned if I let you blame yourself for that."

She stared at him, but just as she was about to open her mouth to speak, Emma set a new glass of water in front of her, causing Bucky to jerk his hands back from hers. "Sorry that took so long," she said, pulling another full glass from her tray to set in front of Bucky, "had to fix some desserts for one of my tables, and that's not always a quick thing." She paused when she glanced at Kim, taking the empty glasses from the table. "Alright there, Kim dear?"

The question didn't come as a surprise; her cheeks must have been red from where she'd rubbed away tears. But seeing Bucky bow his head to conceal himself gave her the incentive she needed to push aside her emotions and focus on protecting him. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

She gave a nod. "Yeah. Just a long talk about—"

"Parents," Bucky muttered, catching both their attentions, but he wasn't looking at either of them.

Emma seemed to consider his response, tilting her head at the barest angle, but then smiled. "Well, since I had to get desserts anyway," from her tray, she presented them with two plates of pie, "I brought you both a little treat. And don't you worry: I'll pick up your tab today."

As sweet as her gesture was, Kim started to protest. "You don't have to—"

But she held up a hand. "None of that. I can't stand seeing you only drink tea when you come in here. Besides, it's not every day I get to say 'thank you' to one of our servicemen." She turned to Bucky. "I hope cherry's okay, love. It's Kim's favorite, so I figured I'd bring it and see what you think."

It took a moment, but then he gave a start when he suddenly realized her words were directed at him, and he eyed her warily. In truth, he seemed to be at a loss as to how to respond.

To spare him the awkwardness of a long pause, Kim gave her head a shake. "Honestly. It's not necessary—"

"Kim," Bucky interrupted, causing her to look at him. "You need to eat. I know you haven't eaten anything since lunch."

She blinked, surprised at how adamant he sounded just then.

"Listen to your cousin," Emma said, and Kim hardly missed the small smile twisting her lips, "he's looking out for you."

She couldn't help but smile faintly in return. "Thanks, Emma."

"You can make it up to me by bringing Mr. Stark in here again sometime. I was able to pay off more than half of my tuition with the tip he left last time," she winked.

Her smile widened, even if only a little. "He's at my house right now, actually."

"Is he?"

"Yeah. Duking it out with Aunt Laura again."

"I see," she nodded in grim understanding. "Well then, best get a slice ready for him to-go, yeah? Enjoy, loves. I'll bring some more coffee in a bit." Just as she was about to leave, she paused next to Bucky's side of the booth. "Thank you, soldier," she said softly.

He stiffened, but said nothing as she walked away to check on another one of her tables.

Something about the worry on his face caused her heart to clench. "Her grandpa was in the British army, so she has a lot of respect for those who have served," Kim explained, and he turned to her, uncertainty clearly written in his eyes. "I told her you were in the army, too."

"You did?"

She nodded. "I just didn't tell her _when_ you were in the army." Perhaps she should have elaborated on when Emma's grandfather was in the army as well, but...part of her felt that was a conversation best left for another time.

"Does she know…?"

"Who you really are? No. She thinks you're my cousin, James, and that you're out here visiting me while Grandma's sick."

"She…thinks I'm James?"

"It would be a little less obvious than calling you Bucky. Besides," she half-shrugged, "James is your given name. Thought maybe it'd be a good thing to call you that in case anyone ever asks questions about who you are."

His brows drew together, those eyes squinting slightly in thought. "No one…no one's called me James in a… _long_ time…"

She frowned. "Does that bother you?"

"No," he said quietly. "No, it's…" Then he lifted his gaze, revealing the barest hint of warmth touching his eyes. "James is good."

Feeling the tightness that had been in her chest start to loosen, Kim sighed to herself. "Alright." Then she paused. "Hey. You heard what they said back at home, right? That Grandma left me the house?"

"Yes."

Very slowly, she laid a hand on the table. "I want you to stay. Live with me there. Permanently." His eyes lifted to hers. "I mean, after Aunt Laura leaves, and things have—"

His hand covered hers, stopping the words in her throat. "You already asked me to stay last night; my answer hasn't changed."

She blinked. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I promised Rebecca I'd take care of you, Kim, and I intend to keep that promise."

God, was it possible for her heart to swell any larger? "When did you…?"

"When you gave me time with her."

This time, she could actually feel the smile crossing her features. To hear him make such a promise…she knew she would hold onto it forever, and that alone provided her with a sense of strength that she'd needed for a very long time.

With a nod, she said, "Okay," and that mere word finalized their future living arrangement. Looking down at her pie, she suddenly sensed the growling discomfort of her stomach. Okay, so she was hungrier than she'd wanted to admit. Drawing her hand back from his, she picked up her fork at last. "They're pretty famous for their pies here, and the owner makes the pies herself every day. I'm pretty boring: I like cherry the best." She jutted her chin at him. "You should try yours."

He stared down at the plate a moment longer, then followed suit as he reached for his fork and proceeded to take an experimental bite. She waited patiently, observing the subtle changes in his stoic face while he chewed.

She lifted her brows. "Good?"

"Very," he mumbled, taking another bite. "You hardly have boring taste in food."

At that, Kim half-smiled. "Who was the last person to call you James? Do you remember?" She asked before popping a cherry-filled forkful into her mouth.

Bucky looked down as he mulled her question, and though his brow furrowed in concentration, he soon looked up at her again. "M-my mother," he uttered, taking a breath. "Wasn't a…big fan of nicknames."

Another memory. At this rate, maybe he'd be able to fill an entire book with his recollections. Speaking of which… "Still got my journal on you?"

He reached into his jacket, pulling it from his inner-pocket.

She nodded once. "When Emma gets back, I'm going to ask to borrow one of her pens."

Bucky gave a nod of his own, and the two continued to eat quietly together in the back of the diner.

* * *

_The pigeon is at rest._

That was the cryptic message Stark had texted sometime after they'd left the diner, and despite how much her stomach was twisting in knots, Kim assured him that she was already on her way home. Perhaps eating that pie hadn't been the best idea, but then again, Bucky was right: she'd really needed to eat something.

The eight-mile trek back to her neighborhood would have felt so much longer if Bucky hadn't been by her side. For the most part, he remained quiet, but every now and then, he'd pull out her journal and leaf through it, taking in her latest entry over and over again, making a comment or two to himself. She didn't mind his lack of conversation; after their talk at the diner, it was enough knowing that he was simply there. Simply making sure she was alright.

As they neared her street, however, she advised him it would be best to split up, just in case Stark happened to be watching for her from the front porch. Bucky had nodded in agreement, giving her hand one last tentative squeeze before plunging into the woods starting at the side of the road. It was obvious he'd gone that way before several times before, and she was confident that he'd eventually find his way back to her yet again. She glanced at her iPhone: 6:47p.m.

Sure enough, as she neared her house—God, _her_ house—Stark was waiting out there for her, arching an eyebrow the closer she got. "Geez, kiddo, are you okay?" He met her at the top step, immediately inspecting one of her arms.

"I'm fine. Just had a little accident. Emma got me cleaned up, though; I was in good hands."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. A little banged up, but the leg is fine, and…at least the distance was good." It was a lame attempt at humor, but Stark paused to look at her, then gave a small smirk.

"Right, well, next time you try to teach yourself how to fly, just keep me in the loop." Then he sighed, placing his hands on his hips in mock disappointment. "And you went and had pie without me? What on Earth were you thinking?"

She smiled faintly. "Thinking way ahead of you actually," she handed him the small Styrofoam box she'd been carrying. "For you, from Emma."

His eyes actually lit up. "Please tell me that's Dutch apple."

"What else?"

And then he was beaming as he accepted the box. "Guess who's about to pay off their a good portion of their tuition again?" He mused in a sing-song manner, popping the lid to take in the sweet aroma. "Ahh. That's pure Dutch apple right there."

She smiled, ducking her eyes briefly, then frowned. "Aunt Laura?"

"Upstairs with Rebecca," he closed the lid. "We convinced her she was overdue for her next round of medication, so she's a lot quieter than before you left."

She nodded, leaning back against the white wood of the porch railing. Small doses of lithium certainly did wonders whenever her stress levels peaked.

Coming to stand beside her, Stark draped an arm around her shoulders. "It wasn't my intention to cause problems for you today, and I'm sorry if our timing seemed lousy, but believe me when I say I was only doing what your grandmother instructed us to do. She said it would be best to break the news to Laura sooner rather than later, especially considering the reactions she's had to bad news in the past. Rebecca knows her daughter best; we're just following through with her last wishes."

"I know," she whispered, then sighed softly.

"In all honesty, Rebecca decided to leave you the house soon after you came to live with her." Kim looked at him, astonished. "It's true. If she'd left it to Laura, she knew it would only be a matter of time before things went sour, and you would be asked to leave. With everything that occurred with your family and during your rehabilitation process, Rebecca didn't want you to feel like you had to start all over again just because of a rough relationship with your aunt. Since day one, she could clearly see how much it meant to you to call this place home. That's why she chose to take steps to make sure you'd always be able to do so."

Her eyes squeezed shut, her heart aching at the bittersweet news. One of the greatest worries she'd had ever since her grandmother's illness became worse…she was doing everything possible to make sure she was taken care of even after her eventual death.

Grandma… "I still can't believe it."

"I know it'll take some getting used to, but hey, Kim Proctor: home owner? Has a nice ring to it."

She smiled faintly, taking a deep breath.

He squeezed her shoulder. "So only one question remains, Kim: do you want the chance to call this house your own?"

* * *

Though Mr. Wilkes had left hours ago, all that was left for Kim to do was sign on a few dotted lines, and it would be done. Stark, who acted as witness, translated some of the more complex legal jargon, which made her feel more confident when she put pen to paper.

"That's it," he said as she scrawled her last signature. "The house is as good as yours. Congratulations, Kimbo."

Kim leaned back in her chair, her left hand covering her right when she realized how badly it had been trembling. Hers. The house was truly _hers_. "Damn," she uttered.

Chuckling, he gathered the paperwork and stacked the pages neatly. "Quite a rush, isn't it?" He pushed away from the table, picking up his now empty Styrofoam container.

She gave him a sideways glance as he headed for the kitchen. Yes, quite the rush, she agreed. A place to call home. For her _and_ for Bucky.

"It'll be a great first investment for you," he called from the kitchen, and she could hear the trashcan lid flip down. "And, you know, if you ever decide you want to make any special renovations to the house, I can recommend some contractors for you."

"Thanks," she said as he returned, "but I think I just want to get used to the idea of…being the owner of a house for a while."

He gave a nod, crossing over to her. "Understandable. Just know the offer is still there, should you ever change your mind." He held up the papers in his hand. "I'll make sure Justin gets this tomorrow, and once it's all processed, you should be getting a call from him."

"Okay," Kim replied, blowing out another breath to help steady herself. "Tony. For everything you've done for me—for us—and I mean _everything_ …" She looked up at him, and though words nearly escaped her, she managed to get out, "Thank you."

He placed a hand beneath her chin. "You deserve so much more than you give yourself credit for. Get some rest tonight, okay? You need to make sure to take care of yourself as well as your family."

Standing suddenly, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly as tears squeezed free yet again. He held her against his shoulder in return, only amplifying the heat that surged beneath her chest. He'd been there for them through so much, and she never forget his kindness and compassion toward her through it all. Ever.

Pulling back, she wiped a tear away from her cheek and smiled sadly up at him.

He nudged her chin with his hand once more. "Call me tomorrow, okay? I want to hear how things are going here, especially if you need to get out for a bit."

Sniffing, she nodded. "Will do. Thanks, Tony."

She watched him as he let himself out, and after securing the deadbolt, Kim ascended the stairs and poked her head into her grandmother's room. Her chest tightened when she saw Aunt Laura seated in the chair beside Rebecca's bed, fast asleep with her head on her mother's lap. Kim sighed heavily. No matter how harsh her aunt could be at times, and no matter how much she'd hurt her earlier that day, seeing her like this reminded her that she was still a child grieving the inevitable loss of her mother. A feeling she knew all too well.

Without a word, she retrieved a thin blanket from the hallway closet, returning to Rebecca's room to lay it carefully across her aunt's back. On closer inspection, she could see the dark circles that had settled beneath the woman's eyes. She'd clearly been crying all day. She debated her next thought, but then reached out to place a hand very gently on her shoulder. Laura never even stirred. For a long moment, Kim stood there, trying to convey so much in that simple touch, from her fathomless sorrow to her unyielding support. She only hoped her aunt might be able to sense it subconsciously.

With a heavy heart, Kim left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.


	13. A Battle Lost

It was amazing to feel how fast she was moving while she swam. Flowing. Effortless. Like a small motor was propelling her forward from her mismatched feet. The last time Kim had even been in a pool was months after the car crash, when she was still doing exercises to become acclimated to physical activity on only one leg. And yet, here she was, doing freestyle laps at the therapy center while Stark watched on, his deep voice reaching her ears now and then while he offered her words of encouragement.

While appreciated, it was hardly necessary. She was cutting cleanly through the water like a seal, and the other patients who stood around the pool's border, or performed their own aquatic exercises in the neighboring lanes, watched on with great interest. Though her heart was beating steadily after twelve full laps, she could tell she was far from being winded. Evidently, all the cardio she'd been doing was really paying off. Every so often, she'd turn her head, taking a breath before plunging her face back down on the next stroke. Kim knew Stark was keeping an eye on the readings of her KAM diagnostic while he recorded her progress on his iPhone.

In truth, he hadn't asked her to come in today: Kim had been the one to insist upon it. Things had been relatively quiet at home with Aunt Laura today, but that was exactly why Kim needed to get out for a while. Thankfully, Stark had been willing to accommodate her while he was still in town.

Turning her head yet again, she pulled another breath into her lungs. Water. She'd forgotten how much she loved swimming, loved the feeling of weightlessness she experienced, and how much it actually soothed her, almost cradled her. Scotty had been much the same way, even if he didn't say it in such words, and she remembered how both of them would constantly challenge each other to races like this. If only he could be here to see her now, even if it was just to hear him taunting her for going too slow.

Another gulping breath, and then her thoughts strayed to more current matters. The quiet of the atmosphere back home…it was something she wasn't used to, and something she didn't _want_ to get used to, something she'd had to escape, even if only for part of the day. At the time, she just couldn't take it. Not the sound of her grandmother's harsh, shallow breaths as opposed to her once soothing voice; not her aunt's perpetual indifference towards her ever since waking up that morning; not the fact that there no one else under that roof who cared enough to simply _hold_ her…

…until she'd sought refuge out in the woods once more. Finding momentary solace in the presence of her great-uncle, who'd been forced to reside outside for the second night in a row. It pained her to think of that, especially since her home was technically _his_ home now, but both of them understood the necessity behind it. When she'd gone to Bucky and explained why she needed to get away for a while, he'd listened and simply nodded in understanding. Before she left, though, she'd thrown her arms around him in a firm hug, and he hugged her back just as tightly, the pressure of his bionic arm still causing her breath to catch—

"Watch it, Kim!"

The warning came too late as Kim smacked against the concrete wall of the pool, wincing severely at the pain that suddenly exploded in her head.

" _Ow!_ " Her cry was muffled beneath the water, but she came up instantly, coughing and cradling her forehead in one hand as it continued to throb.

"Crap, kiddo," Stark called out above her, and judging by the proximity of his voice, he was kneeling by the pool's edge. "You okay?"

Clenching her teeth together, Kim waited several seconds for the worst of the pain to subside, hearing a few concerned questions from other patients echo off the walls. "Yeah," she hissed out, and even as she said it, the throb in her head was already fading to a dull ache, allowing her to feel like she could breathe again. "That was dumb."

He huffed out a laugh. "Only if it'd been intentional, but I'm sure you like having all your teeth right where they are," he said, gently bringing his hands to cup her face, pressing his thumb at various points over her skin. She winced again when he came close to the center of her forehead. "Hmm. Not bleeding, but if you'd been going any faster, you might have knocked yourself right out. Gonna have one heck of a bump there, but at least it'll be a great accessory for all your fun new scratches."

She groaned slightly at his banter, accepting the hand he offered to pull her out of the pool.

"I tell you, though, keep practicing like that, and you'll be able to give Michael Phelps a run for his money," he picked up his tablet from the nearby bench.

"Do you know how fast I was going?" She asked, retrieving her towel from the tiled floor and draping it around her shoulders.

Tapping the screen, he gave an approving look. "Top speed was 5.78 miles per hour. Pretty damn good."

"Quite impressive, to say the least," a familiar voice called, and both of them turned to see the elderly Dr. Bishop already crossing the tiled floor to them, a gentle smile on his face. "Perhaps I should take a second look at her, just to be sure she's alright."

Kim offered him a small smile in return. Dr. Reginald Bishop was a renowned orthopedic surgeon from London, and had been a frequent figure in Kim's life ever since joining _Iron Wings_. In fact, he'd been the one to successfully perform the surgery to insert her implant prior to receiving her REBECCA model.

"Have at, Reg," Stark said, taking a seat on the bench, "then come take a look at these readouts as soon as you get a sec."

"Absolutely."

No surprise there; those two were practically joined at the hip when it came to analyzing her diagnostic readouts. Being devoted to a field that specialized in restoring and improving mobility, Dr. Bishop found any information regarding her work with Stark to be extremely critical for his own medical research. Often times, he would show up to Kim's therapy sessions, constantly taking notes on her triumphs and pitfalls, no matter how mundane they might seem have seemed to her initially. It never occurred to Kim to mind at all; if it helped others in the long run, then she was okay with it.

Her eye twitched when he pressed what must have been the edge of her bump, then the sting worsened when he carefully put pressure in the very center of it. "Oh, sorry, dear," he soothed at her reaction, still examining carefully. His accent was very similar to Emma's, which made her almost certain that they both hailed from the same region of England. "Doesn't seem to be anything to worry about," he reported, his blue eyes bright behind his trademark spectacles. "Though Mr. Stark's assessment about you developing a goose egg right here may be more than a tad accurate."

"Hey, I can deal with a bump," she assured.

"Oh, following your last session, we're all well aware of your resilience, Kim," he grinned. "We'll certainly be interested to see what else you'll surprise us with as time goes on."

At that, she was quiet, but then gave a fleeting half-smile.

"Alright, Reg," Stark stood, and Kim stepped aside as he held out his tablet over for the doctor to see. "Here are the readings from her previous session, and now," he swiped a finger across the screen, "take a look at _this_ little nugget of joy we got as soon as she started kicking…"

She listened quietly as she dried herself off, hearing the two men expound on innovative muscle principles, endurance practices, and a few other points that she didn't quite comprehend. When asked, she would answer their questions, contributing what little she could to the conversation. As much as she tried to focus on the context of their discussion, though, her thoughts inevitably drifted to more pressing matters, and their voices became little more than a distant hum in her ears.

Grandma, her mind whispered, making her frown. There had been little change in her condition since last night, and it was hopeless to think there would be any sign of improvement in the forthcoming days. If days were even a possibility at this point.

She sighed through her nostrils. Back at home, Aunt Laura wasn't any better off. Since her conversation with Stark, she had barely left Rebecca's side. The lithium helped to stabilize her, of course, but it would only subdue her for the time being, not eliminate the grief from her stricken heart. Kim had gone up to check on them earlier that morning, but didn't say a word as she came in to place a bowl of oatmeal on the nightstand for her aunt. Even if she wasn't hungry, Kim knew she at least needed to put something in her stomach. A few bites. Anything. She had to keep her strength up, too. She'd looked at Rebecca for a long time, and then just walked away. It was best to give Aunt Laura all the time she could possibly get with her ailing mother.

Did you even know I was there, Grandma? She thought to herself sadly. Could you tell I was close by?

Could you tell when Bucky was in the room with you?

She huffed out a short breath, then happened to glance down at her arm. At both her arms. The scratches weren't nearly as prominent as they had been the day before, and the same could be said for her left knee, which had been reduced to a dotting of scabs across the skin. She brought a hand to lightly trace over her forearm. Despite how hard she'd hit the ground, they must have been some fairly shallow wounds to have healed so quickly. She had a feeling that would be somewhat of a relief to Bucky…

"Hey, you still with us, kiddo?"

Kim jerked her head up, meeting Stark's brown eyes. Both he and Dr. Bishop were looking at her expectantly, and she could feel a slight flush rise to her cheeks. "Sorry," she shook her head, "a lot on my mind." With so much going on, focus wasn't something that was coming easily at the moment, but she managed to give him a weak smile.

Thankfully, he seemed to understand how overwhelmed she felt at the moment. "Why don't you give me some time with the good doctor here, Kimbo, and go get changed?" Stark suggested, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We can go over the results one-on-one in when you're ready."

She gave him an appreciative look. "Room five?"

"Room five. And for being such a good sport, I'll treat you to some pie later on."

Laughing softly, she shook her head. "So long as you don't tell Pepper; she might get on my case for introducing you to that place if I get you get hooked on pie."

" _Get_ hooked? Far too late for that, kiddo," he grinned.

Damn his addictive smiles, she thought lightly, getting to her feet and wrapping the towel around her shoulders. "I'll be there in a few."

"No rush," Stark commented. "After a knock like that, you need to take things slow and easy."

No argument there, she thought, touching the sore bump on her head once more before making her way back to the locker room.

* * *

"Figured you would have wanted a little privacy by now," he said as she closed the door behind her, now having donned her gym clothes.

Kim gave a nod, crossing the room to him. "Thanks, Tony," she automatically took a seat on the exam table, propping her leg up for him to see. Instead of removing it, Stark simply held it up, turning it carefully to examine what effects, if any, the water might have had on it.

"Looks like getting it wet didn't have any adverse side effects," he commented, running a hand over her metal calf. "Diagnostic showed all functions performing normally after your swim, so the grooves don't appear to make it vulnerable to leaks. That's good; won't have to worry about potential corrosion on the internal mechanisms," he lowered her leg, returning to the laptop beside her. "You looked good out there today, kiddo. Gave me enough readouts to keep me busy for at least another week," he tapped a few keys. "You're really coming into your own with this thing after such a short time, you know that? Rebecca would be proud."

At that, Kim fell quiet, her nails discreetly digging into her palms.

That hardly went unnoticed by Stark, who lifted his eyes to hers. "I think any further discussion regarding diagnostics is best left for another time," he said, pulling the lid of his laptop shut. "Anything you want to talk about, kiddo?"

She blew out a slow breath. "Way too much."

"I can only imagine." He leaned against the padded table, propping himself on one elbow. "But if there's anything you need to get off your chest, I'd like to know."

You mean after everything you've already done for me? She thought, letting her gaze drop to her lap. And where the hell should she even start?

"Kim," he said softly, "bottling it up will do you no good."

I know, she replied silently, turning her wrists to hide her scars from view. Seeing how some of her more prominent concerns were about Bucky, though, she hardly felt the need to expound on those worries. "Just…so much that's gone on, and…" She looked up at him. "The house is really going to be mine?"

"Yes. As soon as the paperwork's processed, Justin will be giving you a call."

She blinked, part of her still disbelieving. "I'm not…sure I can do it. I mean, how will I be able to afford it? This is going to be way different from—"

He raised a hand to silence her. "Relax. You're not going to be without a decent salary for the work you'll be doing for me, so trust me when I say you'll be just fine."

She felt her heart clench, but shook her head. "I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, Tony, but…I can't keep relying on you to help me out when I should be figuring out some things on my own. I don't want it to get to a point where I'm nothing but a burden on yo—"

"Stop," he interrupted, lifting that same hand again, and Kim's mouth clamped shut. "First, let me make one thing perfectly clear: you never have been, nor will you ever be a burden on me, Kimbo. Ever. End of story. Second, you think Rebecca and I would make arrangements for you to own that house and not set you up with the proper background first?"

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I've already taken steps to set you up with a financial advisor. Someone who can help you plan out how to manage and wisely invest your earnings, and this will be the best way to eventually get you on your own two feet. Your grandmother chose the advisor she wanted for you; I took the liberty of setting up a series of appointments on her behalf."

By this point, she was gaping at him. "Why?" Her words came slowly. "Why do you do all this for me?"

"Because I know you'd do the same for anyone else," he said without hesitation, causing her to go quiet once more. He stood, crossing his arms over his chest. "We've been watching you closely over the years, Kim; _I've_ been watching you. For all the shit you've gone through with what's happened to your family, you've achieved level of maturity that has never failed to impress the hell out of me. On top of that, you've continued to demonstrate how fiscally responsible you are, not to mention that you've been extremely self-motivated since day one, and I have no doubt in my mind that whatever you choose to do in life, you're going to be successful at it. And do you know why?"

She shook her head, trying to ignore the sting of tears behind her eyes.

He smiled softly. "Because deep down, you never want to give up, or feel like you've given up on others." He reached out to take one of her wrists, his thumb just resting over the scar there. "Even when you _think_ you should give in, there's something inside you that tells you it's not your true nature. You come from good stock, kiddo; you know better than to disappoint yourself like that."

Damn it, she thought, wiping away the lone tear that had fallen down her cheek. "Sorry. I know it's a bad time to bring something like this up…"

"No, it's being prepared," he said, bringing a hand beneath her chin. "We both know how things are going to end up, and you're doing what needs to be done in order to take care of yourself after the fact. I'm damn proud of you for that, kiddo."

She squeezed her eyes shut as another tear fell, forcing back any potential sobs that were waiting in her throat. All that he was saying, all that was happening for her…she hardly dared to believe how everything just seemed to be falling into place so perfectly. It was hard to say how long such good fortune would last, though, and she promised herself to never forget the people that were there for her during the most trying times. "Um…" She started, but hesitated.

"Go on," he encouraged.

May as well, she told herself with a sigh. "This might be weird timing, but…Bucky's pension," she swallowed, summoning the courage to look at him, "what happens when Grandma's gone? Does that go away?"

"Absolutely not. There are certain protocols that the military follows, but don't you worry: that's already been taken care of for both you and your aunt, but we'll get more in-depth with that after the formal reading of Rebecca's will, okay?"

He had barely finished speaking when Kim felt her phone start to vibrate in her pocket. Stark stepped back as she pulled it out to check the display screen, and Kim's face instantly blanched, her stomach starting to sink. Without a word, she answered the call, bringing the phone to her ear. "Aunt Laura?"

All she could do was listen to her aunt's words, feeling the slow descent of her stomach as it plummeted to the floor, such a contrast to the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat.

Oh, God, her mind whispered. Oh God…

Trembling breaths passed through her parted lips, and her grip started to falter on her iPhone. Catching it with both hands, she looked over at Stark again when her aunt broke off in a fit of sobs, hardly feeling the two tears that fell down her own numb cheeks.

"Rebecca?" He instantly asked, his tone as serious as his face.

She took a couple shuddering breaths, the tears coming faster now, then managed to harshly whisper, "I have to go."

Pulling out his own phone, he tapped an icon and spoke into it. "JARVIS? Take Kim's car home; she'll be getting a ride from me today."

"Certainly, sir," came his reply.

Gathering his laptop into his bag, he told her. "Grab your stuff, kiddo; we're going."

* * *

The world passed by in a great blur outside the passenger's side window of Stark's Corvette. Kim hardly remembered the drive home, the shock that had seized her since Aunt Laura's phone call still making her feel numb everywhere. The sadness was so overwhelming that it didn't even occur to her to be concerned about the fact that Stark was speeding down some of the streets just to get her home sooner. JARVIS wouldn't have been so bold; no wonder he'd insisted on driving her home instead.

Kim hadn't said anything since leaving the Candleman Center. She couldn't; if she even tried to speak, she'd lose it, especially with her aunt's words ringing in her ears over and over again.

_Her breathing, Kim, she's…she's struggling worse than ever. She's not going to last much longer. You need to come home. Now…_

She bit down hard on her lip, but even that wasn't enough to distract her. All the weeks she spent preparing herself for this very moment—all the long nights she'd spent waiting up with her grandmother when her pain was unbearable; all the conversations they tried to squeeze in before the cancer rendered her unable to do so; all the times Kim held onto her hand, even if it was the only form of affection Rebecca could offer anymore—none of it made getting that call any easier. The call she'd been dreading ever since the first stroke. Would she actually have the strength to finally say goodbye? Would her grandmother be able to hold on until she made it back?

Most importantly, would she ever be able to forgive her for what Kim had tried to tell her the night of her second stroke? About the guilt she felt over the deaths of Scotty and her parents?

_Scotty's death wasn't your fault._

Her breath caught in her throat when Bucky's words came back rushing back to her.

_I'll be damned if I let you blame yourself for that._

She lowered her gaze to her lap. She hadn't told him what she'd been trying to confess to her grandmother that night…but she wouldn't deny that part of her wished that his word could be as good as his sister's.

If only she could let him know what was happening at that very moment.

Her hand gripped the door handle a little tighter as Stark rounded the last corner to her street. Even he'd been quiet the entire drive, and as he pulled into her driveway, he didn't object when Kim jumped out her door before he even came to a full stop. At a dead sprint, Kim ran across the front lawn and burst through the front door, not even pausing to see if Stark was following. She charged up the stairs two at a time, her heart pounding as she came to the doorway of her grandmother's room.

Aunt Laura lifted her head as she entered, her tear-streaked face unusually pale and full of a sorrow only Kim could understand. Kim's shoulders heaved as she tried to steady her breathing, seeing the erratic way Rebecca's chest rose and fell beneath the comforter as she struggled to pull in breaths of her own. It only matched the infrequent _beep_ of the heart monitor, which served to remind them of the frail life that was so close to ending.

God, Grandma, she lamented, her eyes never leaving her, not even when Stark's footsteps approached from behind.

Laura's eyes darted to him, but even she seemed too defeated to object to his presence. "It won't be long," her voice cracked terribly.

"I'm sorry, Laura," Stark said softly, genuinely.

For a moment, she just stared at him, but then blinked as she wiped away tears. "Kim," she stood, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, "I think she's been waiting for you." She stepped away from Rebecca's bedside, bringing a hand to her face as she began to pace around the room.

Kim felt frozen in place for what felt like an eternity, the sight of her grandmother tearing her heart in two. Somehow, though, she managed to channel enough strength to her right leg and push herself forward, stiffly coming to sit in the chair her aunt had vacated, scooting it as close to the bed as possible.

I'm here, Grandma, she tried to silently convey, taking her spindly hand in her own. It unnerved her when she realized how cool her skin was to the touch. Somewhere in the background, Stark and Aunt Laura were speaking quietly, but she heard none of it. Her focus was solely on Rebecca, and looking closely at her ashen face, she felt a hot wave of grief wash over her.

_Christ_ , she closed her eyes, letting her head fall into her other hand as the tears fell of their own volition. Living here the past few years, Kim had become more attuned to the subtle aura surrounding her grandmother whenever it came to expressing certain emotions. Even in a catatonic state, Kim knew she could sense things that her aunt simply couldn't detect, and right now was no exception. Behind the mild strain in the elder woman's features, behind the obvious pain and discomfort…there was _fear_. Palpable fear. But not fear of dying. No; by the way the thin fingers barely tightened around hers, Kim's heart completely broke when it became clear that she was holding on for one reason, and one reason only: she was afraid of leaving her behind.

I love you, Grandma, she thought woefully, sucking in a sobbing breath. I love you so much. I love you. I love you…

Lifting her eyes once more, Kim took in every detail of Rebecca's contorted face, wishing she could look into her green eyes one last time. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to her trembling cheek, biting back another sob at the sound of her shallow breaths. Then, closing her eyes, she bent close to whisper in her ear. "It's okay, Grandma: you've fought long enough, and it's time to let go." She nearly choked when she heard the minute change in her breathing, but squeezed her hand to give herself strength. "I won't be alone. I promise I'm going to be okay. I love you, Grandma. It's okay to let go."

The heart monitor chimed with a series of three intermittent _beeps_ in a row, and Kim pulled back with tears streaming down her face. "Aunt Laura," she called over her shoulder, her voice quaking.

No sooner had she spoken than Laura had rushed back to the opposite side of the bed, her face a mask of sorrow as she sat down on the edge of the mattress. Kim's heart ached when her aunt cupped her mother's cheek in her hand, crying as she spoke to her in a hushed voice, telling her what a good mother she'd been, how loved she was, how much she was going to miss her. Kim had never had the chance to tell her own mother goodbye, and part of her was relieved that her aunt wouldn't have to live with that kind of pain. Her hand still grasped her grandmother's, eyes staring raptly as her chest expanded to desperately pull in short gasping breaths.

Grandma, she squeezed her hand, a few tears dripping down to their clasped fingers, it's okay to let go…

It was hard to say how much time passed, but soon enough, Kim saw her chest rise one last time beneath the comforter, then fall as she gave one last wheezing exhale, and then she became still altogether. The heart monitor had stopped beeping, but she didn't have to look to know that it was showing a flat-line.

Kim lowered her eyes, unable to take it when Aunt Laura collapsed upon her mother's chest, bawling relentlessly in the ensuing quiet of the room. She just sat there, still holding Rebecca's hand, feeling the very last traces of life drift from her fingertips until she was gone. Gone. Never to be here with her from this moment on. Rebecca Proctor. Grandma. Her friend; confidante; provider; savior; the one person in the world she tell just about anything to…

_Gone_.

She's not suffering anymore, she reminded herself, but the notion brought her little comfort. She's free…

Unable to stop her chin from quivering, Kim's eyes squeezed shut as she started to cry. Bending down to place a kiss on the back of her grandmother's hand, she settled her cheek upon it. As she lay there, a gentle warmth crossed her face, and she opened her eyes to see the late afternoon sun filtering in through the window. For the briefest of moments, she marveled at how beautiful a sight it was, but just as quickly as it had come, it disappeared, the light and the warmth fading with the passing of clouds. Closing her eyes yet again, Kim succumbed to the tears, weeping quietly alongside her heartbroken aunt.

She didn't even realize when Stark had left the room, leaving them both to mourn privately.


	14. Not Alone

The morning of Rebecca Proctor's funeral took place two days later, a day that dawned bright and beautiful, despite the irony of the occasion. However, Kim knew her grandmother wouldn't have had it any other way.

_A sunny day is always a blessing_ , she used to say, _it means your feet won't get wet…_

The corners of her mouth twitched at the memory, but it didn't last, the pain of loss still so fresh in her heart. Along the eastern border of the cemetery, she stood silently beneath the shade of the massive oak tree, where her grandmother would be laid to rest next to her beloved John. In her hand, she clutched a pair of tulips, which she'd taken from atop the lid of the coffin. Yellow tulips had always been her grandmother's favorite, and Grandpa had made it a point to plant them all over their backyard. Pity they lasted such a short time every spring.

Surrounding her were those who'd also come to pay their final respects to her grandmother, quite a decent-sized gathering considering the short notice on the funeral. Kim recognized some as their neighbors; others were individuals she was unfamiliar with: former colleagues Rebecca used to work with; several members from her church; a few childhood friends who made it all the way from New York. But regardless of what capacity they'd known her in, all of them had come to honor Rebecca's memory. Some even shared some very touching—and, at times, mildly amusing—stories about her past, though Kim couldn't quite bring herself to smile.

Thankfully, those who stood beside her were the most familiar faces of all. To her right stood Aunt Laura, who frequently sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. To her left was Stark, who appeared surprisingly subdued in his black suit and sunglasses, hardly the center of attention for once. There had been uncertainty as to whether his presence here would result in some sort of media circus, but to Kim's relief, there was only him, and she took comfort in the arm he had draped around her shoulders. Even Emma and Dave were somewhere in the crowd behind them, both taking a day off from the diner in order to be there for support.

The one face she wanted to see above all others, though, wasn't there, and she felt her heart tighten beneath her chest. Kim hadn't seen Bucky at all since the afternoon of her grandmother's death, and she'd been so overwhelmed with grief that she'd spent the entire next day confined to her bedroom. She hadn't been able to handle the sight of the Hospice workers taking Rebecca's body from their home, the knowledge that she'd never be resting in the room next to hers ever again. At the time, she hadn't even been able to text Steve to tell him what had taken place. It just… _hurt_ so badly, drained her so thoroughly that all she could do was stay curled up in bed and cry. And as much as it _killed_ her not to immediately seek out her great-uncle, to be encased in the confines of his strong arms as she released her sorrows upon his shoulder...she couldn't. Not with the amount of people shuffling in and out of the house as they helped Aunt Laura prepare for the upcoming wake. More than likely, their presence would have been a deterrent for him, and she wouldn't have blamed him for staying away.

But when the deafening quiet of the house ensued into the late hours of night, Kim couldn't take it anymore. Tearing from the house in the darkness, she ran out into the woods, hardly paying mind to pain shooting through her bare foot as she stepped on small stones, twigs, and pinecones along the way. She had to be with him, _needed_ to be with him. Bucky had every right to know that his sister had died, and she needed to find him, needed to tell him what had happened yesterday…But try as she might, he was nowhere to be found. Not by the thicket, not near the river, nowhere. And as she sank to her knees and cried relentlessly in the dark, she had to admit how alone she truly did feel.

Grandma's gone, her mind whispered yet again. She's gone forever…

She sighed deeply, and Stark's arm tightened around her. She let him; the affection felt nice.

With a calm, soothing voice, the priest led the group in the closing prayer. "In company with Christ, Who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all our tears are wiped away. Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praise forever and ever."

All uttered "Amen" at its conclusion before dispersing. Stark stood back as some of the attendees approached Kim and Laura once more to offer their condolences, which Kim quietly appreciated. Even Father McCarty came to clasp their hands, offering a few last words of comfort to each of them.

Then Aunt Laura was turning to her, and Kim locked eyes with her, a long, awkward pause ensuing between them. Neither had spoken more than two words to the other since the day Rebecca died, and even now, as she stared into those bloodshot chocolate pools, Kim was unsure of what to say that might be beneficial.

But it was Laura who spoke first. "I'll see you back at the house."

Kim blinked. Stark had been the one to give her a ride to the cemetery that day, both of them agreeing that Laura was not in the mood for company in the car. She gave a nod and quietly replied, "Yeah."

Then, after a further moment's hesitation, her aunt stepped forward to wrap her arms around her, Kim holding her breath as she collected her into a stiff hug. Closing her eyes, she lifted her arms to weakly return the embrace, not making any attempt to deepen the gesture. For now, it was simply enough. Pulling back, Laura shared one last look with her before walking away, heading across the vast expanse of grass towards the walking path. Kim watched her go. It pained her to think about how all of this might change their relationship, but for the time being, she felt it best to just give the woman her space. Losing her brother had been one of the most difficult tragedies of her life, and she could only imagine how losing her mother might exacerbate her woes.

A gentle hand fell upon her shoulder. "Kim?"

She turned to meet the blue eyes of Emma, who gave a small smile before collecting her in a hug, this one much warmer than her aunt's. "I'm so sorry, dearie. You're in my thoughts and prayers."

Kim's arms tightened around her, being careful not to damage her tulips. "Thank you," she whispered.

"We're heading back to your house," Emma pulled back, flicking her eyes over at Dave, "to start setting tables." She tucked a stray hair back behind Kim's ear. "Is there anything you need, though? Anything at all?"

Kim could feel her eyes shimmering, but she wouldn't cry. She didn't have the strength to cry anymore. Arrangements had been previously made for her and Dave to cater Rebecca's wake, and she knew they'd spent extra hours at the diner last night preparing all sorts of hors d'oeuvres and sandwich fixings for them. "No," she shook her head. "I'll be okay."

She pressed her lip into a thin line, her eyes still searching hers. "Just so you know, Rachel sent a whole cherry pie just for you, and it'll be waiting in the fridge when you get back."

That finally caused an appreciative smile to tug at her lips, and she hugged her again, inhaling the faint scent of her vanilla perfume. "Thanks, Emma."

"Of course," she pulled back, glancing down at her hand. "Want me to take those and press them for you?"

"Yeah," Kim handed her the tulips. "Use the dictionary on the bookshelf in the living room; it's the biggest book I have."

"Will do," she looked off into the distance for just a moment, seeming to furrow her brow, but shook her head and smiled at Kim, giving her cheek a stroke. "We'll see you in a little while."

Dave also gave her a quick hug, and in her peripheral vision, she thought she noticed Emma giving another brief glance in the same direction as she had before. Once they'd departed, Kim crossed her arms over her chest and walked right up to the side of her grandmother's coffin, gazing at it for a long while. By now, almost everyone else had left, but not her. She wasn't ready to leave her grandmother's side just yet. The bright tulips stood out so vibrantly from the dark wood, and she reached out to place her hand upon the smooth wooden surface. The shade had kept it cool.

"How you holding up, Kimbo?" Stark finally asked.

She sighed through her nose. "It hurts."

"That's to be expected." The grass rustled as he drew near, appearing from the corner of her eye as he stepped up next to her. "Doesn't matter how long we prepare ourselves for it; dealing with loss always hits us hard when it finally does happen. I tell you, though: the woman sure could make me laugh."

She smiled thinly. "You kind of look like my Dad; she always liked it when you visited."

"Liked to kid around with him, huh?"

"Yeah." It was like having her son back, she mused, any trace of a smile disappearing. Lowering her eyes, she pressed her palm more firmly against the polished wood. "I'll miss her."

"We all will. There's a lot of her strength in you, though," he draped his arm around her shoulders, and she automatically leaned into his touch. "I could see that ever since the first day Steve introduced me to you. You'll be keeping her alive for me; that's for sure."

A faint smile fluttered to her lips. "Hope so," she uttered, pulling her hand away to cross her arms again.

"You will," he half-hugged her, "but if you think you'll be needing to continue your counseling sessions with Dr. Lakewood at any point after this, just say the word, and I'll check to make sure your insurance covers another round of sessions. If not, we'll get something worked out for you."

Hearing him say that intensified the ache in her heart. Still looking out for me, she thought.

"Tony?" She turned to face him once more. "I don't…think I could have gotten through this week without you." As difficult as things had been—in more ways than one—she truly meant it. "Thank you. For everything."

He cupped her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You're welcome." Then he tilted his head. "Sorry I won't be able to make it to the wake—"

She lifted hand to silence him. Although she longed for him to stay… "You were here for the service, and that's all that matters." She ducked her head briefly, smoothing a hand down the front of her skirt. "You've given up more than your fair share of time to be here with me, and you need to get back to your own life. And I'm sure Pepper would appreciate having you back home."

Smiling softly, he cupped her cheek. "And here you are, still putting others ahead of yourself."

"It's what you've done for me all along, Tony," she reached up to cover his hand with hers. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."

"Don't thank me quite yet, kiddo," he said, moving to stand aside. "Thank me now."

Her brow furrowed at that, but then her gaze followed to where he was pointing, and she choked on a gasp. Coming down the small hill, wearing a dark suit and ignoring the looks of recognition he received from some of the funeral attendees, was none other than Steve Rogers himself, and when he removed his sunglasses, she saw that his eyes were solely on her.

She didn't even realize when she'd started running to him, but her legs were pumping, and the instant she saw him pick up his own pace, tears began to blur her vision.

Steve, you're here. _You're here!_

It was the only thought repeating itself in Kim's mind as she started to cry, and she couldn't even begin to describe the elation that soared within her as he swept her up into his arms at last. He didn't just hug her; he picked her up off the ground until her feet dangled in mid-air, and she clung to him desperately as if she were afraid he'd suddenly disappear. His arms; _God_ , they were so strong, but so damn comforting at the same time, and she couldn't stop herself from sobbing against his shoulder.

You're here; you're here…

"I'm here, Kim," he said softly, causing her breath to hitch. "I'm here."

She turned her face to press two kisses to his cheek, her arms tightening around his neck.

She could practically feel the smile that split his face. "You don't know how much I've needed that."

"I've needed _you_ ," she whispered before succumbing to the tears yet again.

Steve lowered her to the ground, but the arms around her hardly relented. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, the strain evident in his own voice as he also mourned Rebecca's loss. "I'm so sorry, Kim…"

For the longest time, he simply held her, and she in turn held him, trying to concentrate on how sturdy he was compared to her trembling form. It helped a little; made her realize how much of a pillar of strength he'd been ever since coming into her life. Even now, having him here…it made her feel _whole_ somehow. Made her feel like she mattered.

Much like when Stark held her in his arms. And Bucky…

"But how are you here?" She pulled back just enough to gaze up at him, his handsome face only emphasized by those piercing blue eyes. "I only texted you about the funeral this morning. How did you—?"

"Right on time," Stark said as he approached, prompting Kim and Steve to look at him. "Thanks for keeping your entrance quiet," he offered a hand to Steve, which he accepted.

She stared at Stark, amazed. "You?"

"Since I knew you were going to be in rough shape, I took the liberty of making him aware of Rebecca's passing. I also made it easier on him by arranging a few flights so he could be here." He arched a brow at him, smirking. "Don't think for a second that you don't owe me one, old man."

He also gave a smirking smile. "And if I take her home like we discussed?"

Stark pretended to ponder that, then gave a half-shrug. "Then we'll call it even, I suppose."

There was no way she could repress her breathless giggle. It had been far too long since she'd been together with both of these men. "Tony," wiped her tears away from one cheek, "thank you."

"Anytime, kiddo." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Now that you have a proper escort home, this is where I'll say goodbye. But, before I do," he reached into his jacket and pulled out his iPhone, "one last update to give you."

"On what?"

His thumb swiped across the screen. "You know how I told you I hadn't come up with a name for our little project yet?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, that wasn't entirely true."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Only because Rebecca asked me to wait until I felt the time was right." He lifted his eyes to hers, smiling. "And now feels like the right time to me," he held out his phone to her.

Cupping her hand over it to block the sun, Kim angled the phone for Steve to see, reading the title displayed across the screen in bold letters…and she had to smile. "Project Mercury," she read out loud.

"It was Rebecca's suggestion to me," Stark revealed.

Her eyes met his, a pleasant warmth growing beneath her chest. Mercury: messenger of the gods; able to move swiftly thanks to the winged sandals on his feet. She couldn't think of a better analogy for their research. "I like it."

"Thought you'd find it fitting," he said, "considering how fond you are of Greek mythology."

This time, she felt a smirk of her own. "That's Roman; in Greek mythology, it's Hermes."

He grinned approvingly, putting his phone away. "Just making sure you're paying attention. Come here," he opened his arms, and Kim stepped away from Steve to be enveloped in his embrace one last time. "I want you to take at least a week off from _Iron Wings_ , okay? If you need more time than that, just say the word."

She nodded against his chest.

Over her head, she heard, "You take care of our girl, Steve."

"You know I will."

Her heart swelled at Steve's promise, and then Stark was pulling back, lowering his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose so she could see his brown eyes. "Call me tomorrow."

"Will do."

Pushing his glasses back up, he gave Steve a two-fingered salute. "Take it easy, Cap." And with that, he turned and walked away, his confidence evident in every stride.

Releasing a sigh, she looked up when Steve came close again, draping his arm around her shoulders. "Project Mercury, huh?"

She gave a small smile when he said it, but then it faded. "Um…there's a lot I need to fill you in on with that, actually…"

He lifted a hand. "There'll be plenty of time to discuss that later, Kim. Let's just keep the focus on Rebecca today."

Relieved at his suggestion, she nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm glad you're here," she told him sincerely.

He smiled warmly, bending down to press a kiss to the top of her head. "So am I." Then he glanced in the direction of Rebecca's burial plot, sighing as his face slowly fell. "I'd like a chance to say goodbye," he said quietly.

Though he tried to cover it, Kim had detected the tremor in his voice at the end. Slipping her hand into his, Kim felt another wave of sadness hit her as they made their way back towards Rebecca's coffin, but feeling Steve's fingers interlocked with hers gave her the strength she needed to go on.

* * *

"Thanks, Emma," Kim accepted the mug of tea she held out to her.

"Of course, dearie. And coffee black for you, Captain," she handed the other mug to Steve.

He chuckled warmly. "Thank you, but please: you can just call me Steve, okay?"

Emma smiled broadly, and Kim could see the gratitude and respect that was shining warmly in her eyes. "Alright then," she gave him a nod, "Steve it is." Her smile remained as she turned and walked back into the house, leaving Kim and Steve alone on the front porch swing.

"I adore her so much," Kim commented sipping her tea.

Steve chuckled again. "She really is a sweet person," he blew on his coffee, taking a drink himself. "Very easy to talk to."

"Yeah."

The two of them settled into a comfortable silence, both sipping their drinks and not feeling the need to talk at great length. For Kim, having Steve beside her again was more comforting than she could have imagined. It was the first time they'd been together since Steve's recovery in April, and to have his elbow occasionally rub against hers reminded her that he really was _here_. From inside the house, voices chattered on, and some laughter even broke out at times, but Kim didn't pick up on any of the conversations. She knew Aunt Laura was somewhere inside the house, probably still being comforted by Rebecca's friends, and Kim was glad for that. She was going to need as much emotional support as she could get.

All the while, they slowly rocked the swing back and forth, sipping from their mugs every so often and taking in their surroundings. Glancing out at the sugar maple in the front yard, Kim took a moment to observe a brightly colored oriole hopping from branch to branch. Her grandmother loved seeing them; they were yellow…

"How're you holding up?" Steve finally asked, causing her to giggle quietly. Steve, in turn, gave a laugh. "I bet you've been hearing that a lot, huh?"

"Yeah," she set her mug on the small side table next to her, "it's okay, though. I mean, it means people care, right?"

He nodded. "Exactly." Then he was looking at her, an almost wistful smile appearing on his face. "You made her so proud, you know."

_Crap_. That made her heart clench tightly, and she had to avert her gaze before the emotions overwhelmed her. Don't make me cry again. Don't…She opened her mouth to speak, but Steve wasn't finished.

"I mean it, Kim. One of Rebecca's greatest hopes was that you'd turn out to be a good person, but that can be hard to achieve when you've experienced the kinds of things that you have. But in spite of everything, you've managed to surpass not only your doctors' expectations, but hers as well, and Stark's. And mine." His hand came beneath her chin, tilting her face up until she met his eyes. "I daresay you've even outdone what you thought _you_ were capable of."

She smiled sadly, not entirely sure how to answer that.

"Through it all, she could see that you were always going to be the strong one, no matter what obstacles got in your way." There was a hint of pride in his blue eyes as he cupped her cheek "But what she focused on most was how you always wanted to help others, Kim. Not just yourself. That spoke volumes to her about the kind of person you are, which is shades of your grandmother all over again: sacrificing so much for the ones she loved most."

"Steve..." she sniffed, brushing away a tear, "didn't I warn you about kicking your butt if you made me cry?"

He grinned at that, and Kim couldn't help but smile along with him. "I know somebody else who was a bit like that," he said, reaching into one of his jacket pockets, "and speaking of which, I have something for you."

Kim's brow furrowed momentarily, but the instant he pulled out a set of dog-tags from his pocket, she felt her heart leap into her throat. She stared, hardly daring to believe, but... "Steve," she rasped, "a-are those…?"

"Bucky's dog-tags," he affirmed, turning the metal pieces in his hands. "They're supposed to go to next of kin, and I know that means Laura, but," he looked at her, smiling with sad eyes, then took her hand in his. "I think Rebecca would have wanted them to go to you next."

"But…" Kim started, even as Steve placed the cool metal chain in her hand. Sure enough, staring down at the dented plates—which, she noted, were in remarkably good condition, considering their age—she made out the name BARNES, JAMES B. Oh my God…Tears were falling down her cheeks as soon as she looked up at him. "Where did you find these?"

"Sam and I were following a tip that led us to an abandoned HYDRA lab in Vancouver. Ended up being another dead-end, but I happened to stumble across these in one of their safes," he gestured at the dog-tags. "He'd been contained there at some point over the years."

Her eyes were still locked with his, the tears flowing even faster now, especially when she looked down at Bucky's dog-tags cradled in her hands, her thumb stroking over the stamped letters. The very tags he'd worn back during WWII, and the ones he'd been found with when he'd been taken in by HYDRA…

Her body started to shake as she broke down and wept, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle her sobs. Steve was already there, wrapping his arms around her, and Kim let herself be pulled against his chest. He'd brought a part of Bucky's past to her, had given it to her freely, and it brought a new kind of agony to her aching heart. In her lap, her hand clenched tightly around the dog-tags, an attempt to ease the burning pain.

Steve uttered quiet words, his voice so soothing, so reassuring. Listening to him gave her something to cling to, allowing her to calm down enough to gain control of her tears. "He…" She coughed lightly, pulling back to look at him. "Bucky pulled you from the river that day," her eyes searched his. "Didn't he?"

Steve was quiet for a moment, but then he breathed in and sighed, his shoulders sagging as he answered, "I think he did."

Shuddering breaths passed her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you…think there's hope for him, Steve?

"Yeah, Kim; I do." There was no hesitation from him, which had her focusing on the sudden intensity in his eyes as he wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "He's not the same man I once knew, but…" Even he had to pause and shake his head. "I _know_ he's still in there. I could see it in his eyes; he _knew_ me, Kim." She could see the way his jaw clenched beneath his cheeks. "I have to believe that there's something in him worth saving. All my life, Bucky never gave up on me, and I'm sure as hell not going to give up on him."

"Then neither will I," she meant to say to herself, but by the way his eyes started to shimmer, she realized she must have spoken out loud. She held her breath, wondering how exactly he would take that statement...

But then he smiled faintly, shaking his head. "He would have loved you so much if he'd had the chance to know you."

Her heart burned at that, her eyes closing as hand holding the tags squeezed into a fist. She could feel him rubbing slow circles across her upper back. If only you knew, Steve…

"Listen," she looked at him as he reached inside his jacket to pull out his phone, "something I wanted to ask you today."

The corner of Kim's mouth twitched when he started to tap at the screen. It was endearing to see how savvy he'd become with certain technologies over the years, knowing Stark had, of course, been of some assistance in that regard.

"I know I'm a poor substitute for Rebecca, but," he tapped the screen once more, smiling as the song he'd chosen began playing. She gasped quietly when she immediately recognized the opening notes, her heart swelling painfully within her chest. Standing, Steve moved to set the phone on the side table, then held out his hand to her with an almost-hopeful smile. "May I have this dance?"

He'd chosen the song " _Oh Donna_." Oh my God, Steve…Her chin quivered as her eyes filled with tears.

Steve was speaking, encouraging her softly, and Kim bit back a sob as she placed her hand in his, not entirely sure she had the strength to stand on her own, but he easily lifted her to her feet. Throwing her arms around his neck, she settled her head against his broad chest, inhaling the subtle scent of whatever cologne he wore. She hardly expected him to actually dance with her, seeing how he still hadn't ever—

Her eyes squeezed when he started to sway, moving them in a slow circle in time with the music. Not quite dancing, but close enough to be considered so.

Steve, you wonderful punk, she sniffled, rubbing her face against the lapel of his jacket.

He was leading the dance, and Kim let him, surrendering to the comfort he offered while grasping to the memories of her grandmother. "You'll never be alone, Kim," he said quietly, causing her bite down on her lip. "You're Buck's niece, and you're family. No matter what life throws your way, no matter how hopeless things might seem," he laid his cheek atop her head, "I'm always going to be there for you."

Drawing in a breath, Kim released a trembling exhale, and behind Steve's back, her fist tightened around Bucky's dog-tags once more.

* * *

"You're leaving now?" Kim asked, coming to a stop halfway down the stairs the next morning.

Zipping up the side pocket on her rolling garment bag, Laura stood and smoothed the front of her blouse, not even looking in her direction. "My shops aren't going to run themselves," she said, "it's time for me to go."

Kim nodded, lowering her eyes. "Oh." She'd been aware that her aunt was going to leave the day after the funeral, but she hadn't expected her to be ready to go by eight o'clock in the morning. At the very least, she'd hoped she could have made breakfast for the two of them, maybe give them a chance to talk. Even if only a few words. Something. Unconsciously, her fingers toyed with the dog-tags that now hung around her neck.

"I'm sure you're ready to have your house all to yourself, anyway."

Not…really, she thought with a sigh, leaning on the banister. "Do you really have to go right this minute? I mean, don't you want anything to eat first?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Not hungry. I'll stop for some coffee before I get on the highway," she grabbed her parka from the coat rack.

"For what it's worth," Kim started quickly, hesitating as she debated her next words, "thank you." At that, Laura finally turned and met her eyes. Kim swallowed. "For being here. It…it meant a lot to me."

A long, silent moment passed between them, her aunt's expression never changing as she just stared. Yesterday had been a very long, painful day for Aunt Laura, but it had been for her as well. She'd hoped her aunt would have at least recognized that as another factor they now had in common.

In truth, Kim didn't know what kind of response she was expecting from her. Feeling foolish, she sighed and descended the last of the stairs, heading toward the kitchen to—

"Kim."

Pausing mid-step, Kim turned to look at her, the woman's expression very much unchanged…save for the slight creasing of her brow.

It took another moment, but she unclenched her jaw and said, "Mom had a lot of trust in you, so…thank you for being here for her," she crossed her arms with a quiet sigh. "She obviously needed you."

Kim blinked, unsure of how to respond. It was the most heartfelt compliment she'd given her in a long time, and had she not been so stiff with surprise, she might have needed to place a hand on the wall to steady herself. Once again, they both fell into an awkward silence, neither moving, neither looking away, neither offering the other anything more than a stoic expression on their faces.

The spell was broken, however, when Laura gave her head a small shake. "I better get on the road," she said, grabbing the extended handle on her bag. "Traffic gets worse the closer I get to the border; don't want to get caught up in it."

Kim took a breath. "Text me when you get home?" With her hand on the doorknob, Laura stopped and half-turned to her, not offering any kind of answer as she just stood there. Kim bit the inside of her cheek. "Just so I know you got there safe."

Her aunt still said nothing, but after a moment, she gave a short nod. With that, she left, pulling the door shut behind her, and leaving Kim alone in the hallway.

Crossing her arms, Kim leaned against the wall, listening to the engine of her aunt's car rumbling to life in the drive. She could tell when she was still backing out of the driveway, and when she hit the acceleration, it wasn't long before the sound drifted away, gradually fading from her ears as she drove down the street. Away from Frederick County. Bound for Virginia.

Kim released a slow, slow sigh. The house was quiet. Her house, her property. All to herself now, just as Rebecca had wanted for her. It was so different now compared to the day before, and the longer the quiet lingered, more she became aware of her heartbeat in her ears…

Pushing away from the wall, she made her way into the kitchen, immediately running through a mental checklist while pulling out a container of oatmeal. Problem was, though, that most of the cleaning tasks had already been taken care of by Dave and Emma. They'd been kind enough to stay after the wake last night to tidy things up, wash dishes, and put food and away to give Kim more time to spend with Steve. Dinner prep wasn't a worry; there were enough leftovers in her fridge from the diner and her neighbors to last her at least a month. Mow the lawn? No; that could wait until the weekend. Maybe she ought to just reorganize her bookshelf…

She placed the bowl she'd retrieved from the cupboard on the counter, staring straight ahead at nothing. No matter what useless distraction she tried to come up with, it never took away the fact that at the end of the day, she wouldn't be able to go upstairs and hear her grandmother's shallow breaths; nor the annoying _beep_ of that heart monitor; and certainly not the wheezing sound she'd sometimes make when Kim swabbed her mouth. No. She was gone, and there was no longer anything Rebecca Proctor could do to save Kim from the deafening silence lingering throughout the house.

Not hungry, she suddenly thought, leaving everything on the counter and heading upstairs. She couldn't be in here. Not right now, not like this. She had to get _out_. Away from the reality of her grandmother's absence.

A jog, she decided. A chance to clear her head, even if it provided only temporarily relief from the sorrow in her heart. She just…had to do something, and all her mind was telling her to do was _run_.

Less than ten minutes later, she bounded down the stairs in her jogging attire, setting her earbuds into place as she opened the front door and pulled it shut behind her.

* * *

" _That face you make. Look I so old to young eyes?"_

Kim hit the pause button on the DVD player, letting her head fall into her hands. Perhaps _Return of the Jedi_ wasn't the wisest choice for a movie, but since it had been the last movie she and her grandmother had watched together, she thought maybe it would bring some quiet comfort. Judging by the tears that burned behind her eyes, though, she'd been wrong.

Swiping away the tear that did fall, Kim lifted her head and threw a glance around the living room. It was dark, save for the light spilling in from the kitchen, and she pulled the afghan tighter around her shoulders. Even though the extra layer made her too warm, she didn't throw it off. It smelled like her grandmother.

Sitting back in her green chair, she heaved a great sigh, reluctantly succumbing to the surrounding silence. Her run that morning had been more than necessary, and this time, she'd pushed herself further than she had on past routes. Not only with distance, but also with speed. Considering her run a few days ago, she knew she could be capable of so much more with this prosthetic, and she intended to push herself beyond the limits she'd previously set for herself. Amazingly, she'd even managed to get one small bounce in without completely crashing to the road. Steve would be glad to hear it, especially with how surprised he'd been during her brief demonstration last night.

But the instant she'd returned home, the relief from the exertion and sweat dripping from her skin had quickly vanished, the feeling of loneliness so painful that she wanted to just sink to the floor and cry. She knew she needed to be strong, but it was vastly different from having Steve or Stark, or anyone else she cared about there with her.

Rising from her green chair, she picked up her mug from the coffee table; her tea had gone cold some time ago. After rinsing and putting it in the dishwasher, she glanced at the microwave clock: 10:29 p.m. It was incredible how slowly time seemed to have been moving all day.

It wasn't long before Kim made her way through the sliding glass door, the air outside slightly cooler than it had been a few hours ago. Re-wrapping herself in the afghan, she stepped out into the grass, already feeling her chin start to quiver. Gazing up at the moon—now an ever-waning crescent set against an inky sky—didn't help matters.

Grandma taught me all about the moon, she reminded herself, inhaling sharply as the tears began to flow. Someday…I'll look up there and imagine she's watching over me…

With a heavy heart, she covered her mouth with one hand, catching her relentless sobs as she sank to her knees. She should have been cried out by now, but somehow, her tears just kept coming, forcing their way out regardless of how much she resisted; or how much her poor eyes burned from the sensation. It couldn't be stopped, and she lacked the strength to hold them back any longer. She'd experienced this before: the all too familiar feeling of hopelessness, like a burning ache in her chest. First, with Scotty's death, and then again with her parents...

Grandma, she wailed inside her mind, Grandma…It's only been a few days, and I already feel like I can't…I can't…She squeezed her eyes shut as the fiery pain intensified. God, Grandma, _I need you!_ Sucking in a shaking breath, she continued to cry into her palm. I need you; I can't do this without you. I can't—

A twig snapped somewhere in the trees, and Kim jerked her head up, her tear-filled eyes immediately searching the shadows of the small woods. Though her heart was pounding rapidly, she hardly dared to breathe as she kept scanning those trees, wondering if her mind was playing cruel tricks on her, or—

Emerging from the darkness was the familiar form of Bucky—still in his cap and jacket—and the sight of him caused her shoulders sag and more hot tears to well in her eyes.

Bucky…

About halfway between her and the woods, he paused, lifting his face to silently lock eyes with her. Even in the dark of night, she could see the immense sorrow set deep within his features, the circles under his eyes a mere indication that he'd been carrying it with him for the past several days. A man in mourning over his the death of his sister, one of the last links he had to his former life. Seeing this had her hand reaching up to grasp onto his dog-tags, the tears now falling quietly down her cheeks.

Bucky, she sniffed. Bucky… _you're here_ …

There were no words, not even when Bucky quietly raised his arms. And waited. His eyes never leaving hers.

Moonlight shone upon his metal palm. A shuddering breath passed through Kim's lips, and without another thought, she was on her feet, the afghan falling from her shoulders as she entered Bucky's embrace. His strong arms automatically enveloped her small frame, holding her close as she wept against his shoulder. At times, she could sense his metal arm adjusting around her, gauging the moments when he needed less pressure, as well as the times when he could tell she needed more. Such a thought touched her, and she turned her face into his chest so he could hold her closer still. He did so without question.

Kim released a shaky sigh. It didn't matter that he'd come into her life only a week ago, didn't matter how many tears she'd have to shed, didn't matter that it would take so much time for them to learn about and understand one another. All that mattered was that this man—her great-uncle, her blood, her family—had sought her out when they were both at their most vulnerable points, and wanted nothing more than to know her; be known by her; protect her. Remind her that no matter what hardships she faced in life…he would do everything in his power to make sure she never felt she had to face them alone.

I need… _you_ , her mind whispered, arms tightening around his torso. Need _you_. I need you, Bucky.

"At ease, soldier."

She continued to cry, softly now, her heart expanding when she felt him lay his cheek upon her head, and the coolness of his metal hand cradling the back of her neck.


	15. Epilogue: Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: "Out of the Shadows" is a completed work once again. :) My thanks to all of you, readers, for your patience and understanding as I re-worked this saga. Now I feel like I can continue on from here. You are all the best.

_~Smoky Mountains National Park, three months later~_

She loved how refreshing the air was out here, especially this early in the morning. Kim pulled a deep breath into her lungs and released a contented sigh. It had been far too long since she'd visited the Smokies, and standing amongst the tall trees once more filled her with indescribable peace.

It still looks the same, Dad, she thought, reaching up to grip the straps of her backpack. Just like the last time we were here.

Glancing behind her, she smiled softly at Bucky—who was sporting one of her father's old jackets and the baseball cap he'd had since summer—gazing up at the treetops in quiet wonder. There was so much for him to take in, but for once, he was going to do so on his terms. The morning fog hadn't been chased away by the sun yet, which made their surroundings especially ethereal. It must have been like walking through a quiet dream for him.

For Kim, it was a clue that they were coming ever-nearer to their destination. She chose, however, not to say anything to interrupt his observations, and turned to continue walking down the gravel trail. He'd follow when he realized she was moving again, though, never letting her too far out of his sights. Sure enough, she'd only taken a few steps before the crunch of gravel indicated he was catching up to her. Thus had been the way since he'd become a permanent resident in her home.

 _Their_ home together. At last. Somehow, she felt her grandmother would approve. In the months since Rebecca's passing, Kim's life had settled into a new kind of normal. Not necessarily better, but new. She took comfort in knowing that her grandmother no longer suffered, but knowing this hardly eliminated the void her absence had left in her heart. Whether or not that would fade with time remained to be seen, but to lose the one who'd pulled her back from the brink on more than one occasion? Deep down, Kim knew the pain of her loss would haunt her for the rest of her days. It helped to talk to Steve, who called her at least a few times a week to make sure she was in a good state of mind, regardless of where his searches took him. Even Stark, whom she hadn't seen since the funeral, kept her busy with Skype sessions as she delved into her research for him.

But to have Bucky here, to have him be a constant part of her life now…that truly gave her reason to smile. Living together on a day-to-day basis had given her new insights into who this man was, into who he'd become since that fateful day in 1944. Not the Winter Soldier, but Bucky Barnes. A man who'd been put through such hell at the hands of HYDRA, and yet here he was, aspiring to be the great-uncle Kim had longed for all her life. They'd both mourned Rebecca in their own ways—Kim with her tears, Bucky with his contemplative silence—but it never failed that his presence brought an unmistakable sense of calm to her troubled thoughts. Especially when he held her close and soothed her by whispering " _At ease, soldier"_ at just the right moment. Some days were harder than others, and there were nights when she could hear him crying out fearfully in his sleep. But whenever Kim came to him, calling to him from afar, he would open his eyes and see _her_. Recognize _her_ as someone he trusted without hesitation. They needed one another, and Kim wouldn't have had it any other way.

Family is a haven in a heartless world, the words he'd previously spoken returned to her. She'd penned them into her research journal to serve as a reminder.

Side-by-side, they made their way down Rich Mountain Road, the route her Dad and Scotty used to take every year. It was one of the less trafficked courses in the Smokies, especially at this time of day. It would help Bucky feel a little more at ease. In truth, it had been his request to come here with her, since he wanted to give Kim a chance to return to a place that held such significance to her, and Kim was more than willing to make those arrangements.

Soon, Kim directed them off-road, leading Bucky down a less-trodden path. Tourism tended to be lighter in October, but it was also happened to be the most beautiful time of year to visit the park. Leaves were turning various hues of gold, orange, and red, which, at times, made it seem as though they were walking through tunnels of gentle fire. Wildlife—usually in the form of deer, or the occasional rabbit—was constantly on the move as the temperatures became cooler, and there were moments when they would pause as Bucky's keen eyes detected their movements in the trees. He would reflexively place his left hand out in front of her, but Kim would merely reassure him with a few words before they continued their trek. The exertion from the hike kept the blood rushing warmly through her veins, making the chillier fall temperatures a welcome relief; Bucky seemed to be in his element as well, hardly breaking his own stride as their path began to ascend. He even maneuvered the series of rocks they came upon with ease, though at one point, the damp moss covering their surfaces made it difficult for Kim to gain her footing. Stepping back, she took a breath and stomped her foot down just enough to bounce right up to where Bucky stood, his hands automatically grasping her waist as she landed. They'd had a great deal of practice with this move lately, and under Bucky's tutelage, she was beginning to gain more and more control of her new abilities. When her eyes locked with his, she could see the half-smile touching his lips. His smiles: those had been nice to see.

Leading on, Kim advised that it wasn't much further, and Bucky followed without question. Her breaths came steadily, this being just as effective a cardio workout as her jogging. It was remarkable, though, to think that this was really her first hike out here with this prosthetic. The increased intensity in her exercises had improved her overall stamina and strengthened her quads, making this feel so easy to her. She had to wonder just where this could possibly lead if Bucky continued to aid her in developing her skills.

It wasn't long before there was a break in the trees ahead, and Kim's heart swelled as she began to take in a familiar sight. "We're here," she said almost to herself, taking off at a dead-run to get to the lookout point faster, and as she came to a stop, she couldn't help but gaze in absolute awe at the view before her. It didn't matter how many times she'd seen it; it was still breathtakingly beautiful. From here, the morning fog had thinned enough to reveal a glimpse of the cascading mountains, adorned with the foliage of multi-colored trees as far as the eye could see. Sunlight continued to dissipate the lingering fog, setting light to the leaves and making them shine like jewels. A few rays shone down upon her face, and she closed her eyes, savoring the warming sensation. Truly, this was one of the best-kept secrets in the entire park, one that few actually knew about, and she had to give her father credit for making the discovery on his own so long ago.

The way he smiled the last time they were here…

Sighing deeply, she opened her eyes, trying to ignore the way her vision began to blur as she took in the impressive scenery. The longer she looked, the more being here served to remind her of how massive the world really was…and just how small she was compared to it. The thought had crossed her mind before, and in turn made her realize how often she turned to her family for strength and reassurance. Facing each of their deaths had only magnified that feeling of insignificance in her heart—

Coming to stand beside her, Bucky silently took her right hand in his, the fingers of his bionic hand solid through the fabric of his gloves. She gave him a sideways glance, catching a glimpse of his unshaven face in the light. It brightened his features, made those normally intense eyes such a piercing shade of blue. He was just as captivated by the sight as she was, and part of her also had to wonder if perhaps he, too, was experiencing the same feeling of insignificance as she.

But you're not, she thought to him. You're family, Bucky, and family means everything to me. Whatever I have to do to prove it…

She let the thought fade, returning her attention to the view in front of them. Kim drew in a breath and slowly released it. "I love you," she said softly, and smiled faintly when his fingers automatically tightened around hers.

**THE END**


End file.
